I wanted to blog about my sourdough starter, which is working beautifully, but as this isn't a food blog, and as I'm currently working on a food related poetry book with my writing partner Carolyn Howard-Johnson (that's the long awaited provisionally titled Persephone's Juicy Jewels), I figured I'd do better with my target audience (that's you) by making things a little literary and writing a poem. So herewith, my untitled, freshly baked sourdough poem. On the left is a little fresh bread - just flour, salt, water, and starter. Chewy, soft, crusty, and gone within the hour (an ephemeral loaf, but one that served its purpose).
lactic acid bacteria
nothing to be scared of
perking in anticipation
with all those excited
microorganism queuing up
all that potential energy
it seems wrong to
curl fallow, soaked in inertia
shivering below the covers
failing everything
and everyone
unfed and tasteless
wrong to keep
this pot of kinetic joy
unkempt and perfect
from its life’s purpose
to leaven, nourish,
raise the lost.
I don't think I've eaten store bought bread for years.
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