Sourdough #2
The day begins but doesn’t take form
until life is given to the leaven.
Coffee steeps and the faucet weeps, and
flour and water is fed to the leaven.
I bow, pray my half-hearted confessions;
the counter an altar to worship the leaven.
Hours pass and the leaven remains,
flour and water is fed to the leaven.
My life is loss but the leaven regains,
flour and water is fed to the leaven.
Left overnight to come more alive,
I’m shocked to learn the dough has brethren.
Flipped and folded, kneaded and pinched;
all it needs is itself: the leaven.
Dumped and handled with half-washed hands,
almost ready to send it to heaven.
Placed in the oven and baked into bread.
Finally, in the end, the leaven is dead.
Tomorrow is new, there’s more in the fridge;
everything ends, except for the leaven.
Samuel Louis Spencer is a poet and journalist based in Tampa, Florida. His work has appeared in The Decadent Review, Scapegoat Magazine, Tokyo Poetry Journal, Inlandia, Third Wednesday, Barzakh Magazine, and others. Spencer grew up in Malawi to missionary parents before attending boarding school in Kenya. He earned his MFA from Liberty University and is passionate about traveling and the outdoors. Currently, he writes for The Travel, Curated, Outdoor Master, and Snowboarding Days. In addition to words, Spencer is a fervent tennis player and snowboarder.
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