A Baker’s Dozen

A Baker’s Dozen

Thirteen rests on the counter,

not twelve, not eleven, but one more,

a quiet gift folded into the warmth of bread,

a nod to some old law, some forgotten rule.

The baker counts with tired, flour-stained fingers,

dough clinging, sticky, warm,

he slips the thirteenth in with a small smile,

a subtle rebellion, a gesture of grace.

Why thirteen? Perhaps luck, perhaps caution,

perhaps the world whispers that abundance can surprise,

that life can give a little more than we ask,

more than we hope for, more than we expect.

We carry it home, the bread still soft,

unwrap it slowly, tasting the mercy of one extra,

and for a moment, thirteen feels almost holy,

a quiet reminder that kindness can be baked in.