Dry Need

When I baked bread
my hands kneaded the dough until,
oiled to gleaming beauty,
it rested snugly above warmth,
rising to give strength

At the end I would rub my hands together
shedding the bits of dough
water sliding off my skin in droplets

Tonight my hands are dry
chapped and cracking at the seams
no amount of oil
can make them supple

I need something elemental
to sink my hands into
creating other in the heat