God’s fingers were floury from kneading the bread dough.
She wiped them on her apron
Then stooped to pick up the baby
(He had been crying and pulled himself up by her pant leg, his snot and
tears spotting her jeans at the thigh)
She kissed his cushy cheek
Hoisted him on her hip
Smoothed a stray strand of hair
And laughed when he sneezed unexpectedly.
On the radio the band struck up a tune
So she took his chubby hand in her callused one
And they danced around the kitchen
Afternoon sun dappling the linoleum
School buses whooshing by outside
Neighborhood children chattering down the sidewalk
And there in the middle of it all,
Bread dough rising quietly.