I Rarely Cook Anymore

I’m in recovery – not from cooking per se,
which I've said I enjoyed – but from two decades
of providing cooked foods to growing bellies,
three or four times a day – and twice that,
on holidays;

from that, I’m recovering.

And so, in this occasional silent kitchen,
I have discovered the art
of fermentation – sauerkraut, pickles, kombucha;
kefir, kimchee, and cheese; brines, beers, sourdoughs

from around the world.

I keep these vats and crocks and jars
bundled and stored in warm corner cupboards,
left to breathe on cool attic steps,
in vigil from pantry shelves where children have never climbed;

this is something I must do . . . life at its most elemental . . .
occurring,

growing where no one can see it . . .
readying to the day

. . . for sprouts.


Yogurt, sauerkraut, water kefir, rye sourdough, to name a few