Bread Trees

I took the crumbs you gave me, father,

And planted them in rows

Along that old, muddy creek bed

Tucked behind the summer home.

I waited there, father, waited fearlessly

For the grove of bread trees sure to grow,

Cupping each bud as it emerged,

Watching for season’s first loaf.

Imagine, father, when the bread trees grow,

How the people will walk between

And wonder beneath their shades and lines

How hunger came to be.

Wings and beaks, father, wings and beaks

Stole them from us, snatching,

Yet I could not make them stop;

They were hungry, so hungry, me watching.

I fed your crumbs to the ducks, father,

And I hope that it’s all right,

Next season we’ll have bread trees, father,

And they will feed us through the night.