Saturday, January 12, 2019
The Weight of Absence
Morning rite, almost liturgical: three slices of Heidelberg Cracked Wheat, toasted, real butter on all three, not too dark, tan; one slice with Bonne Maman Raspberry Preserves.
On this morning, in the fortnight tidal wake of Good Mother's passing, a succession of holes. Slices hollowed by air, by loss. Heart-shaped, one-half-inch diameter. Upper left, not perfectly duplicated as in an assembly line but discernible sameness just the same.
With a hole silently skewering the loaf, is it still 24 ounces?
How much does nothing weigh?
What is the weight of absence? And at what cost?
Take this bread. Eat. Digest. Begin the day. Lighter than yesterday. And heavier, too.
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