Milk Bread

An elegiac poem

(This poem is dedicated to the memory of my sister Juliet Winters Carpenter.)

It was the label that caught my eye on my way out the door.

Supermarkets have their own brand of “click bait” -
Something deemed irresistible stationed right at the entrance.
Which, of course, is also the exit.

Something loaded with carbs, sugar, raisins, Bavarian cream, maybe.
It beckons.
”Wait!”, it screams, “don’t leave! You’ll like this
You need this! Go ahead - take one.”

The item that stopped me in my tracks
Was not pastry.
Not danish
Not donuts
Not pound cake.

It was bread.

Special bread.

I couldn’t believe my eyes:
”JAPANESE STYLE MILK BREAD”

I almost gasped.

Instantly I was transported to 2007
My trip to Japan, visiting my sister.
Using Julie’s frequent flier miles.
Staying at her little home.
Exploring, traveling, experiencing a culture so foreign
That it felt like another world
Another planet

A beautiful world.

And the food!
Dear God, the food.
Shabu-shabu at our first dinner,
Washed down with cold beer.

The box lunches of rice and chicken we bought to eat on the train.

The 12-course feast in Kyoto, Julie’s gift, served by her student.

But most of all, my friends,
THE MILK BREAD.
Thick soft slices…
A crumb like no other bread…
Bread or cake??
Bread, but not like any bread anywhere.

The adjectives (moist, pillowy, feathery)
Don’t do it justice.

Like toast, do you?
This toast is different.
Ultimate toast.
Indulgent
Luxurious.

And these people get to eat it every day!

AND NOW HERE IT IS!
IN AMERICA!
IN MY HOMETOWN SUPERMARKET!

Wait til I tell Julie!

And then I remember.

She died two weeks ago.

She would have been so pleased.

Oh, cancer…………………………….