Maman

— a sculpture by Louise Bourgeois

Before sleep
I sacrilegiously pray
for things, putting
myself above others.

In sweat, I wake —
alcohol leaving pores,
begging God
for forgiveness 
of every sin 
committed.

The mornings bring
prayers of reality, 
finally setting aside God 
another day
feeling blasphemy
is there, somewhere.

In my dreams, I tell Louise 
that I too
am trying 
to get out 
of the rain.

Dough

It’s different 
when you bake
a single loaf of bread.

It’s like that first date
where you learn 
the other person’s background —
that inherited quirky laugh
from the mother’s brother
who’s not quite right…yet fun.

That first bold reach —
when ingredients
mix with moments of interaction, 
and touch pulls
those viscoelastic adhesives,
where warm yeasty glutens bind 
between the fingers of
infatuation’s anticipation
only to cool when the evening
comes to an end.

But there are dreams 
of the morning,
that hopeful anticipation
when the oven comes to temp,
with yesterday’s experiences
resting in a bowl
to be scooped, held, 
shaped and dusted in love,
blessed and thrown
into the heat with passion
hoping that the past
will birth into golden flesh 
where lips will open,

and teeth will bite.

JEREMY PROEHL

Jeremy Proehl’s poems have appeared in several anthologies. He was mentioned in the August 2019 issue of The New Yorker. He attended the Dodge Poetry Festival, Bread Loaf Writers’ Conferences (Vermont and Sicily), Napa Valley Writers’ Conference, and the Lost Lake Writers’ Retreat. He currently works in the garage-door industry.