This Wanted to Be an Ode to Pain au Levain
Sourdough crumbles under my hands,
flour thick on the counter, white haze
same as my father used to breathe in.
The skin splits where I score it, steam
unfurling from the center like something
trying to leave.
I eat the heel first, next its soft middle,
then the quiet between bites, imagining
what’s left of his lungs. He was convinced
his anger would bully up, save him.
He hated me, and now it’s just me
communing with wild yeast.
Hallelujah.
Copyright © Jaymee Thomas | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment