With electricity cut by NATO bombs, she waits in candlelight for her customers. -- _New York Times_ photo caption, May 24, 1999
Reportage Her shoulders ache. In ten minutes they will wander in from the cellars, wanting breakfast for the children, a sandwich loaf, something crusty that would stand up to soup. The line will curl through the dark shop. They will point, choose, and their purchases she will tally by hand. Later, there'll be a rock concert, a rally. By then, if she's lucky, she'll be asleep under feathers, dreaming of the tiny horns named for cuckolds and whether they will lose their curl in the ovens, for the young ones, deprived of Ninja Turtles, are hungry for these pointy buns.
Corporeal This is my body, this is yours The sour mother rising in the bowl will bring forth fingers, horns, and plaits O armpit of pumpernickel, groin of corn give it to us black and blonde Sink into the beds of our bellies and grow us new bones
Folkloric Offer it with salt to welcome a weary traveller Sign each braid with a cross before baking He who steps on a crumb will make the souls in limbo weep Drop a slice on the floor -- kiss it before eating Salute the bride with a loaf, and she will be happy in bed
Antiphonal Blessed are the Slovenes, for they are the cake-makers Blessed are the Croats, for they excel at fish Blessed the Dalmatians, for their black wine gave birth to philosophy Blessed the Montenegrins, for their honey pastries console bitter coffee Blessed, too, the Bosnians for the subtlety of their tongues -- who else would season veal with lemon and hibiscus? Blessed the Serbs, for their bean soup makes foreign clerics sweat Blessed the Herzegovinians, for their silver wine strengthens friendships Blessed the Macedonians, for their puddings of pumpkin sweeten a heavy feast Blessed the Albanians for their love of cinnamon And blessed are the olive trees and vineyards, goats and sheep, for they serve both parable and table Blessed are the mint and dill, for they are the peacemakers And blessed the yeast and sponge, the sour-gray loaves, for they have inherited the earth
Karen Kovacik was born in East Chicago, Indiana, in 1959. She currently teaches creative writing and literature in the Department of English at Indiana University-Purdue University of Indianapolis. Her book, Beyond the Velvet Curtain, winner of the Stan and Tom Wick Poetry Prize, appeared from Kent State University Press in fall 1999....
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