Mrs. Fitzgerald’s Bread

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love-bread

They laid me to rest in a green dress
from Woolworth’s, apparently.
I looked like a pickle in that thing.
All puckered and shapeless.
I wear my brown dress and apron in heaven, thank you.
And I have a waistline.
I make bread in my old clothes
and my tatty apron with flour on it
because that’s my heaven!
Hands in that soft dough
kneading it through and through
Never felt more alive
than when I was turning dough
over on a wooden board.
My greatest joy in life
was when a tot would come in
squirming on his mother’s hip,
chewing on a chubby finger.
Teething, of course.
The mother looked like she’d been dragged through hell.
But when those little eyes would pop
at all the loaves I’d made
they’d pull that finger out of their mouths
and point “muh!” eager for a mouthful of bread!
I would hand a loaf over to them
and smile and wink, no charge.
That’s a slice of heaven, right there.
It’s in the moments you spare
to extend what you love to another person.
Go about your talent with a glad heart
and share it with others, show kindness.
Nothing is ever too small for you to do, in life
Don’t ever let them tell you that.

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