Poetry By Laura Tanenbaum

      Matteo Paciotti CC



Mama Dough

What did the mother dough say?
A pink February morning.
You have to hear it a few times.
Or read it, maybe in a poem. 
Or hear it in your kitchen
from a child with yeasty fingers. Otherwise,
you might think it's about a deer, 
not bread. 

She says, I want to feel kneaded!
So poetic, this matter of yeast 
& rising dough. 
Cookbook writers, carried away,
wax on about mother earth,
forget the matter of cups, 
mixing and teaspoons.
Maybe it's on purpose. A mystification,
rendering matters knottier than necessary.
As with bread, so with poems.
So with mothering, so with mornings. 

I didn't make up that joke.
Late at night, almost on the other side, 
the child leans close, confesses. Someone
told me it. But I'll never tell you who.  



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​Laura Tanenbaum is a writer, teacher and parent. She has published poetry and short fiction in many venues including Cleaver, Rattle, Catamaran, Aji. Her essays and book reviews have appeared in The New York Times Book Review, The New Republic, Dissent, Entropy, and many other venues. She teaches composition, literature and creative writing at LaGuardia Community College, City University of New York. You can follow her at @LauraTanenbaum on twitter and read her writing at https://lauratanenbaum.substack.com/.
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