Ode to Firestarting

Ode to Firestarting

Even before
beginning 

I admire

sourdough 

starter risen 

through the night 

to frothy 

soup.

Torn shipping box

in hand

I open 

the stove door,

sweep

yesterday’s ash

flat

with sandwiched 

corrugation,

crinkle

brown paper,

toss in

a handful of

grocery receipts,

sprinkle 

of fir cones

crisscrossed

by mossy twigs,

two larger twigs

feathered

with serrate leaves,

a half-rotted 

redwood chunk,

thick curl 

of oak bark.

One match 

fires

two paper corners,

brittle leaves,

though minutes 

pass before flame

slithers

through the bark tunnel,

leaps

to iron 

firebox roof,

my signal

to layer on

a starter log

without tumbling

the still

fragile pyre.

I brew & drink

Earl Grey,

breakfast

on egg & bacon,

ready myself

to measure

water, flour, & salt,

to kneel

& knead
the morning bread.