Monday Morning Poetry: "Slicing the Bread" (Trochimczyk)

I was never a morning person; and I'm definitely not a Monday morning person!  However, I'm trying to ease what is (for me) a rough transition by spending a few minutes with a classic poem.  Call it preemptive therapy.  Or call it "Monday Morning Poetry," which sounds much prettier, right?  Right.

This one isn't a classic-- yet-- but it's from a volume that I'm anticipating: Slicing the Bread, a collection of poetry that offers a child's perspective on war-torn Poland.  The concept grabs me, as my mother and uncle-- children of Polish forced laborers-- had been born in a displaced person's camp after World War II.  What was it like? The perennial question.

Maja Trochimczyk, Slicing the Bread(publication: October 25, 2014)

From the title poem:

"Every week, her mother ate dziad soup –

fit for a beggar, made with crumbled wheat buns,

stale sourdough loaves, pieces of dark rye

soaked in hot tea with honey.

She liked it. She wanted to remember

its taste."

I love the humility of this memory-- its basic, fundamental level.  (The food!)  My own childhood memories are a series of smells, tastes, still images, songs on the radio... 

What was it like?  Perhaps poetry offers the best possible answer.