The Bread of Life

How did I end up in this poem?
I am supposed to be the unseen laborer
Pushing the pen or tapping the keys.
My thoughts massaging my brain,
My brain kneading creativity  
Over and over like dough,
Then cover and leave it alone for a time
Until inspiration, as yeast, makes it rise.
Finally, I carefully bake it by editing
Until It is completely done.
My part is played, my role is finished  
Unseen behind the kitchen door.
Now please enjoy a slice.
 . . . the word and the bread,
Oh how they sustain us.