So I wrot a poem about it:
HOME MADE BREAD DAY
My mother had two large speckled turkey roasting pans
And twice a week
Her morning would be devoted to
Making two large loaves of bread,
Loaves large enough to fill those big roasting pans.
It was a most special treat
If she cut off an end of the crust
And handed it to you to eat.
We would put jam or margarine on it
Or just eat it plain,
Hot bread from the oven,
Crusty and yeasty tasting.
We took that bread for granted;
It was served at every meal,
Large slices of homemade bread;
I realize now that
It also served to fill up
The insides of five hungry children.
I was sometimes envious of classmates
Who brought sandwiches to school
For their lunch, made with Wonder Bread.
Our sandwiches were made with mom’s
Which you couldn’t begin to slice thin—
Our sandwiches were mostly bread;
Sometimes I took a scrambled egg sandwich
To school for my lunch,
Wrapped in wax paper.
The egg was still warm when you made your
Sandwich so by lunchtime
The wax paper had sort of glommed onto the
And had to be carefully peeled away.
I wondered why my mother couldn’t just be
Like other mothers
And buy her bread
At the corner grocery store.
What wouldn’t I give for just a slice
Of mom’s homemade bread, today.
–Sandra Lee Smith