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<pre class="wp-block-verse">Every morning I wake up in a kitchen 
at the crossroads of my body and spirit 
I’m expected to make something of my day 
a delicacy, maybe, or an atomic bomb? 
I’m supposed to know the path to tread 
I hear that strange question outfacing me: 
‘where do you see yourself in five years?’ 
I blank out—how do I go about that? 
‘don’t answer,’ I’d hear, ‘just bake it’ 
bake it, really? with these untrained hands? 
 
a silent fear would latch on my heart 
as the actual ‘what’ and ‘how’ evade me 
but no one listens—I must be babbling 
I hear that life happens to us, it just does 
so I find myself every dawn, yawning 
somehow equipped with unknown recipes 
for every relationship I’m to enter and exit 
for every cause I’m to believe in and fight for 
I’m always in a hive here, my head crowded 
the bees are home, buzzing with life 
 
since my hands must fashion out something 
I launch my day mixing desires in the same 
bowl with uncertainties, kneading them soft 
on the intricate board of complexities 
oh, and life may add two teaspoons of denial 
or of approval, and on a careless morning 
I may doze off as my oven burns itself 
the resultant loaf smells of wreck, trash-worthy 
it breaks me, plunging me back into the 
same old struggle of making my day count 
 
sometimes I bake an aspect of my life 
into a successful cake worth celebrating 
this happened the first time my father 
beamed and said he was proud of me 
I became an inspiration for other humans 
but then, I forget to diligently take notice 
that each time the world laughs with me 
it becomes a clue, that the coin is tossed 
that I may be getting the head now 
but the tail is a few tosses away 
 
sometimes I can’t but bake sorrows 
in oblivion, or find them pre-baked 
all it takes are series of blind decisions 
as I follow just the sight of my eyes 
neglecting the still small voice within 
then when I prepare a table stocked full 
and sit in readiness for a grand feast 
the first deep bite poisons my tongue 
the taste of sadness—only hope remains 
to breathe on, to bake better another day </pre>



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<p class="has-text-align-right has-cyan-bluish-gray-background-color has-background">Joseph Olamide Babalola is writer of evocative poetry and fiction bordering on the critical issues of everyday life. He was shortlisted for the 2021 K&;L African Prize and the African Writers Award. Some of his creative pieces have appeared or are forthcoming in 101words, Poetica, Kreative Diadem, Praxis Magazine, Nzuri Mag, Agape Review, and elsewhere.</p>
 
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HOW I BAKE MY DAILY BREAD (a poem by Joseph Olamide Babalola )
