Grandma, in Alaska, found sourdough.
She taught me to feed it when I was young.
The captured, wild yeast of the Yukon.

She said, “with a little warmth,” it would grow.
I saw magic from where the bubbles sprung.
Grandma, in Alaska, found sourdough.

As we waited, she told tales of Tokyo,
and her mid-century travels among
the captured, wild yeast of the Yukon.

If I looked away, it might overflow
to the pine-planked floor, to a song unsung.
Grandma, in Alaska, found sourdough.

I learned lifes lessons in that wooded home.
I’d wince, after stolen hooch hit my tongue.
The captured, wild yeast of the Yukon.

I want to take in all there is to know
before my chance to see it is all gone.
Grandma, in Alaska, found sourdough.
The captured, wild yeast of the Yukon.

Vanessa Watters lives in the Northwest United States and is currently finishing her MFA at Eastern Oregon University. She has previously been published by Poets Choice and The Dewdrop and is upcoming in Other Worldly Women Pressand Beyond Words. She enjoys meandering under the pines and along the raging rivers that surround her mountain home.