Pantry Bloom

The back of the cupboard held a faint,

sweetish sort of rot.

A smell I couldn't quite paint,

something I'd forgot.

I pushed the cans aside, a dull row,

past the dried-out peas.

And found a jar, covered in snow,

of dust, if you please.

Inside, a cloudy, murky brew,

where things had started fast.

A tiny world, forever new,

growing from the past.