Tuesday, August 19, 2008


I've been thinking about sourdough,
a bubbling, acidic mess of airborne yeast
that we nurture into rich tangy loaves.
Gold prospectors trekked Alaska with bags of sourdough
in their shirts,
keeping the precious leavening alive with the heat of their bodies.

In fall I'll bring home a cup of starter,
and in our new house we'll have sourdough biscuits
and pain au levain.

Last night in your sleep you pulled me closer against you,
and my dreaming brain registered
as a baker
a bowl of sourdough
Clasped against your warmth,

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