Too few of us, perhaps,
feel that the breaking of bread,
the sharing
of salt,
the common dipping into one bowl,
mean more than satisfaction
of a need.
XLVIII
for Larry and Rodica
Arlu rode in from the west.
Tuco saw the horseback figure two miles away.
A half mile out, he knew who it was.
He prepared the bean soup
and the bread came out of the oven
to cool
just in time
for her arrival.
A healthy,
modest
feast.
She drew up at the gate post
and tied her horse to it.
Then walked toward the door
where Tuco waited.
"Been awhile," she said
as he reached
to hold her close.
They nestled for a while,
still
and quiet.
The smell of fresh baked
bread
filled the air
and they turned toward the kitchen.
Tuco sliced the warm bread
and Arlu brought out the butter
and began to spread it on the slices.
Tuco turned to the stove
with another bowl
and ladled two helpings of bean soup.
Arlu set down
and watched his back
and stance
as he filled the bowls.
"This is new," he said
as he turned toward the table.
"Four bean - black, kidney, soy and lentil
with red onion, salt,
shitake and
cremini
mushrooms.
"Cremini?" she asked.
"Immature portabello," he replied.
"More manageable for some dishes."
He sat the soup pot on the table
and they began to dip their bread
into that rich bowl.
All was well
this fresh
new
year.
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