La Boulangerie

by Audrey Walls

We could not leave the bakery rows
of the unfamiliar marketplace set
deep into the suburbs of Toronto.
The brioche buns that begged to be broken
in half and slathered with salted butter,
and raisin challah loaves that you could pluck
apart with your fingers: cotton candy
in feathered layers of egg and honey.Sponge cake tartlets brimming with bright jams:
boysenberry, blackberry, apricot.
Brightly boxed cookies with French descriptions
on one side, and English on the other:
pattes d’ours, biscuits de noix de coco.
Rows of croissants laying golden, waiting
in the open air, with clear sweet glazes
reflecting the fluorescent lights inside.

The other shoppers stared at us, unsure
of what we stared at in return, as they
muscled their way to the anise loaves and
fumbled through bins of bagels and rolls.
We stood as children, our hands fidgeting
in our pockets, unsure ourselves of what
to touch, or what to devour first.

~~~~~

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