Braided Gold | Lindsey Herman (12)

Flour drifts and floats in the air

Mama wipes it from her hair

Water, yeast, and a touch of salt

Is all it needs, to become a vault

Her hands press deep as she kneads and folds

It stretches and breathes, warm to hold

Starting small, but oh it grows

Alchemy working through the dough

She braids it tight, four strands combine

Woven like a familiar design

Painted, brushed on egg, a golden gleam

Seeming as if it's from a dream

The fire soars, the heat transforms 

Turning soft to strong, raw to warm

The smell erupts in the Friday air

Like something holy, so soft and rare

She lifts the loaf, flaunting with a grin

“See how the little things make the best begin”

She places down the bread, its sweet gold, crust so deep

A treasure for us all to eat

No spells, no tricks, no ancient stones

Just hands that know, and love alone

From water, yeast, and salt to bread

Shabbat is gold in Mama’s tread