Butter

She buttered the bread
When she made my sandwich
Other mothers did not
They were American
She was not
Other mothers
And I had see many
Never buttered the bread
They had mayonnaise
Mustard
Relish
Lettuce
Tomatoes
We had these things too
Sometimes
But she always buttered the bread
It was like my sandwiches
Were coming out of the past
Somewhere
Across the ocean
Where protocols were different
And butter was important
Bread and butter
Sometimes
That was the whole sandwich
We are each separated from the present
By our pasts
Small differences
That manifest
The vast distances
That lay between us
They said Tomayto
She said Tomahto
I walked the thin line
Wondering
Now
Sometimes
How
Life might have turned out different
How would I see the world
It she hadn’t
Buttered the bread
Or a thousand other subtle
Innocent
Thoughtful
Thoughtless
Wonderful
And
Sometimes
Terrible
Things
That kept us outside
The circle
That surrounded
Us
My father was just the same
He sang songs
That were old and far away
From a different time and place
And told stories of
India
Pakistan
Germany
And all the other places
He had been
In twenty-one years
As a soldier
He told us about being a boy
One of twelve children
Of an Irish family
Growing up in Salford
Joining the British Army in 1928
Just for a new pair of shoes
My folks had a wider perspective than most
Experiences that few shared
In this new country
The history I learned at school
Shallow and narrow
Was broadened by what I learned
By
Listening to them
Those times are gone now
The world is a much smaller place
I live now
Where my folks once lived
And people wear jeans
Baseball hats
Drink Coca-Cola
Eat Big Macs
And a million other things
That are done the same
All the world over
I am so glad
Now
That
She buttered the bread