The bread failed to rise. The center is collapsed.
I forgot to add baking soda instead of baking powder
or forgot to add baking powder instead of baking soda.
I’m not sure which is of greater concern,
this, or the fact that my hippocampus is no longer
processing short-term memory for long-term storage.
But here it is, evidence notwithstanding,
a loaf, a non-loaf, a loafer, thick and leathery.
The mound occupies a blackened pan passed down to me
by my grandmother--her inability to recall the recipe
is now my inability to recall the recipe.

What will become of my DNA, if say, future loaves implode?
Best to quell fears of dementia
by giving a new name to old bread.
It is no longer Parisian rye. Rather, it is chicken fodder.
I will rise tomorrow and begin anew,
baking soda in one hand and baking powder in the other.