Remember? Poem by Gloria g. Murray

WHITE BREAD
(for Shelly & Judi)

white bread we used to call them—

the ones who weren't in therapy
or on meds, the ones who didn't want
to die when a guy left them
the ones who never complained about pain
with their periods or nipples that ached
who didn't drink until they were high
who never uttered a curse stronger than hell
who thought they'd go there if they did

who never got caught smoking
or making out in a convertible with a dude
in a leather jacket and gold cross
dangling around his neck

white bread we used to call them—

we Canarsie girls who grew up on rye
and pumpernickel, never with ham
but chopped liver and kosher salami
and mothers who thought screaming
was the way everyone talked