At Breakfast
I’m thinking about hands
this morning and blessing
the hands of the young Korean baker
who got up at 4 a.m. to make this
perfect loaf of seeded sourdough
sitting now on my kitchen table
and the hands of the woman who made
my coffee mug, the handle shaped
to cradle my fingers as they curve,
and of the farmers in Costa Rica
who grew the beans to make the coffee
and the skilled hands of the workers
who installed these windows, opening
the room to the possibility of sunlight
which now spills over my own hands —
and the babies with their dimpled hands
leaving smudged fingerprints on the glass.
And another blessing
for the hands of the one
who shares my table,
my coffee, my bread,
my sum and sunlight.
Six Steps
They mount the stairs side by side,
the young man towering over
the elderly woman, who trembles slightly.
Enfolding her sparrow hand in his,
they ascend the six steps to the deck,
their progress slow-to-imperceptible.
Her vision and balance are gone
but she has a longtime trust in him,
leaning against his sturdy arm.
Years ago, their heights reversed,
she held his still-new hand in hers,
helping him up step after step.
.
Their stories intertwine:
a double helix
symmetry of lifelines.
There is no thought of hurrying this process;
their murmuring voices, bits of light laughter,
the reverence in their pauses.
There are six steps.
There is time.
They ascend together.
Beth Kress grew up near Chicago and lived in midcoast Maine before moving to the Boston area. She began writing poetry after careers in teaching and counseling. Kress is keenly interested in community, the natural world, our stories, and connections of all kinds. Her work has been published in The Snowy Egret, Spotlight, The Avalon Literary Review, Dreamers, The Red Wheelbarrow Writers’ Anthology and recently won The Willow Review Prize. Her chapbook Taking Notes was published by Finishing Line Press in 2020.