Sweet Brötchen, swathed in dishcloth-
layered baskets, the call of your brethren
is deafening. In every bakery they coo
with the fragrance of burnt butter
neatly touching, plumping for purchase
in ardent display of crusty cleavage.

Sweet Brötchen, had it instead
been two loaves and five fish, had you
spread your recipes down the Jordan.
To every god who demands your offering,
to every pilgrim who starves in believing,
you who appear in the prophet’s dreams.

Sweet Brötchen, oh why is the bakery closed
on Sunday, but every other day, every other day,
we gather you, with hams and cheese,
for delicious breakfast food. And sweet
sweet Brötchen I confess – I never lie,
my stomach cries, (in fact) it was all good.


Hazel Lin is a grad student currently based in Germany.

Featured image via Flickr.

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