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  • RisingYeast Final

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    Hazel Papagayo
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    The poem reminisces about watching the speaker's mother bake bread in the kitchen late at night. It describes the mother gently kneading dough made from milk, eggs, water, baking soda, vanilla, and self-rising flour mixed with room-temperature butter. The mother would say not to rush the rising and let the dough rest, which was the secret to making warm, glorious bread. After the dough rose, she would put it in the hot brick oven to bake, filling the house with an aromatic smell. When the bread was done, she would slice the golden brown loaf revealing a perfect crust with hints of rosemary and soft, flavorful inside. The speaker would enjoy the bread with the mother, asking for more

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    The poem reminisces about watching the speaker's mother bake bread in the kitchen late at night. It describes the mother gently kneading dough made from milk, eggs, water, baking soda, vanilla, and self-rising flour mixed with room-temperature butter. The mother would say not to rush the rising and let the dough rest, which was the secret to making warm, glorious bread. After the dough rose, she would put it in the hot brick oven to bake, filling the house with an aromatic smell. When the bread was done, she would slice the golden brown loaf revealing a perfect crust with hints of rosemary and soft, flavorful inside. The speaker would enjoy the bread with the mother, asking for more

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
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    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    21 views1 page

    RisingYeast Final

    Uploaded by

    Hazel Papagayo
    The poem reminisces about watching the speaker's mother bake bread in the kitchen late at night. It describes the mother gently kneading dough made from milk, eggs, water, baking soda, vanilla, and self-rising flour mixed with room-temperature butter. The mother would say not to rush the rising and let the dough rest, which was the secret to making warm, glorious bread. After the dough rose, she would put it in the hot brick oven to bake, filling the house with an aromatic smell. When the bread was done, she would slice the golden brown loaf revealing a perfect crust with hints of rosemary and soft, flavorful inside. The speaker would enjoy the bread with the mother, asking for more

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    of 1

    Rising Yeast

    Christine Joyce S. Papagayo


    In the silence of the night,
    I reminisce the time
    When by my side was you -A bright red apron hugging your waist,
    Your gentle fingers kneading with easy grace
    The ball of dough mixed perfectly:
    Milk, eggs, water
    Bicarbonate of soda, vanilla, self-rising flour,
    And room-temperature butter.
    Do not rush it to rise; let it rest,
    You often said - the secret to warm, glorious bread.
    You surrender the tray of dough
    To the red hot brick oven.
    Spellbound by the aroma, I am
    Held captive by the promise of good taste.
    The oven rings
    And you bring forth a golden brown delight,
    And we cannot help but smile
    As with a knife you slice
    That which, on the outside, is a perfect crust
    With hints of rosemary,
    And which, inside, is flavorful and soft Heavenly flavors dancing in my mouth.
    I turn to you with eyes bright,
    Asking for more,
    And we enjoy the moment.
    Now the apron, worn out, hangs by the door
    It barely goes around your waist
    And now instead hugs mine
    As I try to master the art
    You solely taught me.
    I shall dream of you tonight,
    And of the bread sublime.

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