—
During the Depression, the stories
of the rich man suddenly
poor hurling himself
from his office window
to the unforgiving pavement
below have become things of
legend, as have stories of
the compromise of man:
“Pacifists with massive fists
suddenly are pugilists.”
“A godly man who never stole
suddenly would sell his soul.”
It was the suddenness,
the unexpected abruptness
that my father recalled,
when his mother died when
he was eight and his brother
three, and their father
sent them away to live
with relatives who wanted
the baby but not the
boy, feeding the baby but
asking the boy if he
was hungry, so the boy,
so the legend goes,
stole apples off a cart.
I asked him why
he didn’t say yes.
He said, “You don’t ask
a boy if he’s hungry, you
tell him to sit down and eat.”
“You thought that at eight?” I asked.
What my childhood lacked
in love, it made up for in bread.
While searching in elegy, I
discovered that one was the other.
__
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