Christmas Bread

Christmas is a time of celebrating the birth of Jesus. In the Boniface family, we make merry with a cardamom yeast loaf we've dubbed "the Christmas bread." There's a special story behind the bread--the story of when my father nearly died. I was in kindergarten at the time.

Memoir

Next month I plan to share that story with you. It's one of the chapters of my life I've been writing for my memoir.

First, however, I want to share the poetic version. Why? Because it was just featured in the holiday section of the November-December 2025 issue of Of Poets & Poetry, a publication of the Florida State Poets Association. You can read my poem on pages 33-35. The recipe for the Christmas bread is there too.

Ballad

I chose a ballad form to narrate the story.

Traditional ballads are lyrics meant to be sung. Four-line stanzas repeat a regular ta DUM rhythm--four ta DUMs with lines 1 and 3 rhyming, three ta DUMs in lines 2 and 4, which rhyme. It's fun to sing the poem to the tune of the theme song of the 1960s TV sit-com Gilligan's Island.

With my poem, in addition, I braided in a couple of other elements. Free verse ties the story to the recipe for the Christmas bread. Bible references tie the bread and story to truths of Christian living. These elements combine in a musical medley – complementary parts of the story "sung" by different voices.

Ballad of the Christmas Bread

In early fall of ‘58

a pastor moved his wife

to start a job. And ‘twas his fate

to undergo the knife.

To not be late, he’d timed the drive

with no one to forewarn.

He kissed his wife and left at five

one murky Monday morn.

The air was foggy, cold, and damp

as once he gathered speed.

His sturdy car did hug the ramp,

a neighing, trusty steed.

Stir a yeasty swamp

warm some butter in milk

yellowing it with eggs

frothing under a whisk

beat, beat, then fold

My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought. 

Ahead the highway stretched out black,

the motor cat-like purred

as it traversed the misty track

of tire treads that blurred.

But just before, a semi-truck

had stalled across four lanes.

And from the cab the driver snuck

and let no lights remain –

into a nearby station ran

to ask attendants’ aid –

a hasty, thoughtless plan

for which another paid.

Add dry ingredients and spice

citrusy, aromatic, woody,

filling nostrils with comfort

grounding in love

full, robust

How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!

A silver ribbon winked moonlight

across the thick, dark sky –

phantasmagorical and white,

illusion of the eye.

His headlamps flashed a warning beat –

too late he learned that it

was not a banner ‘cross the street

but freighter he would hit.

At fifty feet, he must decide

and quick – he slammed the brake

and aimed for rubber wheel’s outside.

His car did screech and quake.

Keep warm, protect

let rest

then punch down

to rise again

and again

Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.

Without seatbelt, he smacked the dash,

the wheel attacked his gut.

An ambulance surveyed the crash,

its sirens cut somewhat.

“Are you OK?” a window tapped,

a glance to soon assess

and to a gurney he was strapped

to ER for distress.

The sick bay medics soon decide

he’s only stunned and sore.

With classic doctor pluck and pride

they’ll discharge him therefore.   

Braid the cords of dough

Father, Son, Holy Ghost

Trinity

father, mother, children

Family

A threefold cord is not easily broken.

A sphyg’manometer “Hello,”

a nurse in white comes by.

The pressure reading is so low

She fears that he will die.

She drops the bulb and runs for aid

much to the docs’ chagrin.

They wheel him where he has been laid

a surgery to begin.

For fourteen days and fourteen nights

he heals enough from wounds

until the staff dismissal writes

and sends him home with prunes.

Bake just long enough

not burned

a golden loaf

tender crust, moist inside

steaming aroma

When he has refined me with fire, I shall come forth as gold.

And when he stands to preach again

who’s in a pew? – a chum.

And when he says the last “amen,”

just who down t’aisle should come?

The nurse in white who cared for him

he now would pray for too.

The congregation sang a hymn,

and she gained life anew.

She saved him first, then he saved her.

The joy to celebrate,

she shared a recipe preferred –

a Finnish bread to bake.

Frost slightly warm loaf

with butter cream

sprinkle with

red holly berries and

green jimmies.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.

That’s not the ending of our tale

for it continues on –

at Christmas we ourselves avail

of spicy cardamom.  

We add a candle, light it bright,

and happy birthday sing

to Jesus Christos, dight

in flesh redemption us to bring.

And we remember just how blessed

we are to be alive,

rejoice together at the fest,

and all year long do thrive.

Gather

break into pieces

offer thanks

partake

savor goodness.

I am the Bread of Life. This is My body which is broken for you. Take, eat in remembrance of Me.

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