The Cult of Bread

In my stomach

lie the remains

of a little god.

Like all gods,

it has its history

of being fought for

and memorialized

in sacred texts.

In my stomach lies,

the god of life.


It was created

over 9,500 years ago

on the Fertile Crescent

and found in the stomach

of Ötzi,

who was discovered

perfectly preserved,

5,300 years

after his death.


The god of which I speak,

is bread.

Bread can giveth,

what lack of bread will taketh away.

Without it,

the Israelites,

starving in the desert

would have died.

It was also

in the house of bread,

that the catalyst of a major religion

who called himself

the bread of life,

was born.


The power of my god

is so strong that

under the name Annona,

it kept the Roman peasants

controlled and content

with their panem et circenses

and compelled the Bourbon sovereign

from his kingly seat at Versailles

to the people’s city

of Paris.


We digest,

but I digress,

much of the world

belongs to

the cult

of bread.


The picture at the top is from my Cranberry-Orange Rye.

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