Poetry Drawer: Chapattis by Claire Bassi

She kneads, one-handed, dead knuckled,

the dough of a generation lost to TV and Nando’s,

brushes rags of stuck flour from her creased palm

and forgives me.

I’m trying, but my efforts are shapeless, torn,

my toasting burns, flour sparks the flame.

But never mind.

She passes me a piece of her lightly buttered soul.

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