Today I ate a croissant

A poem

Today I ate a croissant

So cavernous and fluffy and layered and impeccably geometric around the folds

That I wanted to be on that shit Alice be on

Shrinking down tiny enough to commune with a pastry

I wanted to be on that shit James was on

Shacking up inside a giant peach

Peering around the cozy edible corner of an oversized foodable

Adventuresome and delicious

Like me

What love and care must be baked in there

To make me want to write a poem about you

I told my breakfast pastry

What time and layered precision and layer and precision and layer and precision some morning baker has

to love this dough into submission

Has, to love this perfectly banded crispy and gooey and chewy and flaky and melty-in-your-mouthy bread into existence

I’m impressed, I’ll admit. Sat awed by a fancy French bread. Or a fancy French pastry chef. Or simply the super human experience of being fed intentionally.

Oh, ode to you

who took the time

to learn the steps

to make the bread

so imbued with

faith and hope and love and that

Who believed a bread

Could be a gift

A sacred gift, if you ask me.

I thank thee.

I’ll have another