Daily Bread

we have the windex for

that glass ceiling and

though we may not tread

a crystal stair

we see clearly.

from hob of hearth, to

microwave oven, we are the heat

at the center of the

kitchen, grinding grain into

flour, dreams into written-out

realities

mixing, with the spoon of

self-assurance, the dough

that will rise, impervious to

death, disappointment, slighting-speech

rising, in the face of all

resistance, to their fullest

forms, sliced for sustenance,

this, her daily bread