The Boys In the Back

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.