Ian: A Sourdough Story. Poetry by Fran Bardsley

He was born one icy December morning
In the happy chaos of our kitchen.
A bubbling, sticky, oozy mess;
A promise of future baked riches.Every day I tended to him
Fed him
Made sure he was just warm enough
But not too warm.And Ian delivered:
Misshapen loaves with tooth-cracking crusts;
Rolls of unexpectedly delicious
Even a dozen lumpy bagels.

But now
Ian is hungry;
He sits forlornly on the side,
Wondering when I will feed him next.

In other kitchens,
Flour is puffing dusty clouds,
Newfound passions for baking
Filling empty furloughed hours.
Keeping children entertained;
Keeping the supermarket shelves

I measure out a cup,
Stir it in,
Watch Ian gurgle happily and belch at me.
Just like my human offspring:
Just as greedy;
Just as messy.

Tomorrow he will again rise to the occasion.
Will I?

A journalist for 10 years, Fran now works in marketing and PR in the education sector and writes as much as she can. Older writings can be found here: mightier-than-the-sword.blogspot.com

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