Rye

My mother
Loved light rye
Toast for breakfast
A bit of butter and her
Coffee but mostly I think
Of the caraway seeds in the
Rye bread their odor taste feel
On the tongue how she told
Us rye bread was what the
Poor ate while the rich ate
White bread from wheat
The reverse of the 50s
When most ate white
Bread but the fewer
Ate rye bread so I
Saw us as upper
Middle class
Even if we
Had not
Much
Money as
My mother did
Not work outside
Our home with six
Kids all calling Mother.
As I read literature I began
To notice my Mother’s sense
Of humor was rye like her toast.
She deliberately ignored all our
Silly questions or responded
Why why why Flirch some
Arcane reference or else
She sang a response
Sometimes related
To our query yet
She would ask
Us things to
Test just
How
Aware
We were
Of life and
If we would
Like some rye
Toast or white
As she looked us
In the eye smiling.
She read literature
At a voracious pace
Was an artist loved us
But ignored our attempts
To get attention while
She ate her rye toast
Drank her coffee
Read her book
A nice Jewish
Lady with
Six kids.
Rye
Humor.