Pass the Butter, My Love


A poem by Michael Graber

So I said to the wheat, “Listen,
you’ve grown, been picked, bought
and sold, sat on a shelf, and purchased
again—now, I’ll add a little yeast and a few
oats. You will rise, stretch into sustenance. The heat
will kill you, change your nature. You will be
remade as bread.”

dark bread

The wheat talked back, “Listen,
loverboy, quit with the elaborate
metaphysics and metaphors. You don’t
need to sell me on future promises. I am
a delicious sacrifice. You’re the one that is
burning. You see; I was a thresher and a baker
before being reborn as wheat. I know the cost of
love. Question for you—the only one that matters—
who are you going to share me with?”

Pass the butter, my love.

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