Bread & Butter

You taught me how to butter bread

With rough and calloused hands

And bunions on your feet

You marched and waited

For a bus, for a train, for a taxi.

You returned as a sour shell

Of yourself, weary but unshaken

The pot put on the fire,

Sharp knives and wet rice,

Your anger was cold and gray

It drained over the sink.

I wiped the table clean and set the table

For your madness.

You taught me we are born alone

And likewise, we will die

So I shoveled snow and cut the grass

And the snakes revealed themselves

Red eyes and black souls

Your madness kept me safe

I inherited the walls you had built

Fortified with blood and tears

Of my own; they wouldn’t crumble.

 

Erect they stand, although the earth

 

Has shaken time and time again

 

They have birthed an eternal spirit

 

Unwavering and immortal.

 

Her face and nose round like mine,

 

Today, I will teach her how to butter bread.