by Diana Morley.
Wonder bread pulls me back like
a mayo jar taunting of a baloney sandwich
in a lunchbox from my ever-doing mom
providing only the best for us three times a day.
A whiff of cardamom brings my husband
for whom I braided and baked the loaf—
saffron rice for my daughter, whose husband
kneeled to ask for more than her hand.
Free association’s an emancipation
from reason’s interruptions like
sitting on dirt chewing sourgrass or
bobbing up and down, nibbling
an orange popsicle too cold, so sweet.