Love In A Brown Bag

It's morning, my grandchildren aren't up, yet,

    and my daughter is bagging their lunch.

How familiar is this pattern from generation

    to generation of mothers in the crunch.

I tear at those clear and painful memories

    of my single mom struggling through.

Twelve years of making brown-bag lunch

    to save the cost and, somehow, make do.

So much love in peanut butter and jelly

    and apple slices, raisons and grapes—

Cheaper, but not cheap—so there could be

    more of something at later dates.

My mother made those decisions every day

    before she left for work.

It's been a long time between mom and mom…

    but love is still a brown-bag perk.

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.