The Secrets of Challah

My mother braids secrets
into her Challah,
folds them into pouches
of heavy dough,
kneads them to become perfect,
rounded loaves.

Many times I've watched her
bake, she adds flour or water,
depending on the texture,
and molds the skin,
a technique she learned
years ago.

Perhaps standing closer,
I might have grasped
that the air bubbles
were not really air bubbles, but
the saddest parts
of our history, the kind of history
that finds you.

To her credit,
what better place to hide
secrets than in Challah,
where they can be made
into a familiar
sustenance.

           Not long ago my mother left me
a note: keep the music on,
it is playing for the bread,
and when I checked,
a loaf was in the oven, rising
and sweet.

-- Dara Barnat