Love, Bread
by Leigh Allen

During the long slow slide into the city
the sun rises before my eyes and I daydream of sourdough
the new starter from Giza coming in the mail,
feeding the yeast, waking the ferment from sandy slumber

The weight of the dough like the weight
of a stingray sliding out of my arms
into the Caribbean Sea
drowning in the work of this life,

but breathing through the bubbles
catching my breath in the spaces created
by the air in the dough
providing the same space and breath to you

my love, my picky eater,
as if underwater and breathing from the same hose
I want to feed you on fermented grains
to say things that can’t be said in words
Open your mouth. Listen.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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