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The Boys in The Back
By Sy Roth

The right hand turned the waters 360 degrees
Then another willful rotation
Until the bubbling chicken-fatty waters splashed over the sides
While the boys in the back did their algebraic calculations
Considering the enigma of a minus two yellow eggs 
Then jouncing on the waves of her stirring.  

An arthritic chicken leg made its way to the surface
Its death-claw clawing at the chunks of flesh swirling amid a flotilla of vegetables
And with it redolent steam captures the air of the kitchen in its garlic thrall.

She continued the rotation in the silence of the eddying water
Resting for brief moments in the minutes of her remembrance
Embracing the time when food was ersatz
And the act of eating became a chore. 

She held the dreams of her survival in that ladle
A galumphing oar in her packed chicken soup—
Shabbos wonderment to stir away the remembrances of things past
While we played behind her back with imaginary numbers.

Her front, a no-access vestibule
A sodden wall of sorrow against a world 
Where we did our algebra and plumbed the secrets of numbers 
Away from her horrors.

No words—
A simple sometimes brief shake of her hair
To bring her back to reality.

No left,
No right. 
No judgment
Just the temporary aroma of living
With her sons scratching their numbers in the background
Thumping the depth of calculating incalculable numbers.

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