My aunt believed in the sanative nature
of Wonder Bread, buying enough loaves
to cover the backseat of her Oldsmobile.
She kept most in a chest freezer, others
lined her kitchen counters. My father
said it was the thinnest of breads, crinkling
a slice between his fingers. My aunt
rolled her eyes. They continued rolling
until November, when her son said he was staying
at the base. He wanted to be a career Army man.
I heard her cry for a minute, and then she packed
three loaves into a box and mailed them.