BROWN BREAD
Mama had some bread in the oven –
Brown bread.
That morning I’d watched her knead
And roll the dough with her
Soft, pale hands.
The brown dough stuck to her fingers,
And gathered under her nails like
Dirt from the garden.
That evening, when the bread
Was golden brown and sat
Displayed between the
White meat of turkey
And bland green beans,
Papa wouldn’t touch it.
He just eyed her offering scornfully,
Mumbling about them hanging
Nigger-lovers and killing half-breeds.
Mother fidgeted nervously but
Bravely ate a slice.
She chewed it slowly,
Relishing its flavor.
Father’s eyes never left her.
When she’d swallowed it down,
He rose and slapped her soundly
Once then twice.
Crying, Mama wrapped her arms
Around her belly,
While I prayed silently for God to
Save the bastard child.
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~Zach
wonderful expressive write here Lisa...
John
Welcome to Authors' Den!
Connie
Welcome to The Den. Your poem, "Brown Bread" was not what I was expecting. I did find it sad but open and honest. I wish I had the power to change the ways of the world. Peace, Love and Blessings Always, Paul.