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| Pixabay |
Beholden
I am beholden to the bowl in my fridge
where subtly bubbling sourdough gently
rises, awaits baking day a week hence.
It breathes, relying on microbes thriving
in my kitchen, makes me smile, as do
the tiny thoughts that render these times
bearable—the cotton content of my socks,
fair trade beans magicked to bars of dark
heaven, rows of tariff-free salsa, crowding
vintage freezer’s cold, a mighty lungful
enlivening yoga’s child’s pose before bed.
In the vault of night—as in the fridge where
dough sleeps—there must be music beyond
our hearing that sparks what began as dust
into a crusty loaf, a poem or even more.
© Nancy K. Jentsch
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| Nancy K. Jentsch |


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