Challah waited centuries
for this October morning;
for completion in this bath
of milk and eggs and honey;
for this Northwest kitchen
where my beloved whisks
the batter as our children jostle
at the counter just like siblings.
The morning is aflame.
A year ago I did not think
I could be loved again.
Someday the children,
if they persist, will learn
the things I know right now.
That manna can appear
to the lost still tending gods.
That this is indeed the
"Best french toast ever!"
And yes, that arrival takes time.