My dad had a thing for a handful of saltine crackers crunched into a glass then topped off with milk. A child of the Great Depression, he was born to two deaf parents, his mom killed by a train at age 6. I never liked the snack though I would often agree to have some just to be by his side and listen to his sounds of joy. I tried the crackers and milk again about a week ago. I think saltines have gotten saltier since he died.
My dad had a thing for a handful of saltine crackers crunched into a glass then topped off with milk. A child of the Great Depression, he was born to two deaf parents, his mom killed by a train at age 6. I never liked the snack though I would often agree to have some just to be by his side and listen to his sounds of joy. I tried the crackers and milk again about a week ago. I think saltines have gotten saltier since he died.
I love a poem about camaraderie on a Greyhound. Having passed some travels aboard these chariots, I too, have found companions, willing to share whatever they have with them. It’s typically their stories I like best. Thank you for sharing your work here, Sherman.
Hello, Sherman Alexie. Not to take anything away from your experiences just to add that I too have had such encounters with folks that I don’t know but feel related too.
Fifty-seven years ago, on a long bus trip, I sat next to a Navajo man on his way to a job as a cook. He generously shared his Ritz crackers, a thermos of ice cold vodka, and good advice about traveling by bus.
My dad had a thing for a handful of saltine crackers crunched into a glass then topped off with milk. A child of the Great Depression, he was born to two deaf parents, his mom killed by a train at age 6. I never liked the snack though I would often agree to have some just to be by his side and listen to his sounds of joy. I tried the crackers and milk again about a week ago. I think saltines have gotten saltier since he died.
My dad had a thing for a handful of saltine crackers crunched into a glass then topped off with milk. A child of the Great Depression, he was born to two deaf parents, his mom killed by a train at age 6. I never liked the snack though I would often agree to have some just to be by his side and listen to his sounds of joy. I tried the crackers and milk again about a week ago. I think saltines have gotten saltier since he died.
Brotherhood served on a Ritz cracker.. doesn't get much better.. does it?!!!
Thank you! :)
I love a poem about camaraderie on a Greyhound. Having passed some travels aboard these chariots, I too, have found companions, willing to share whatever they have with them. It’s typically their stories I like best. Thank you for sharing your work here, Sherman.
Great poem. Thank you. I'm going to slather some PB on a Ritz now!
I read "Crackers" after "Theology 101," and it played tricks on me...Ritz Crackers as Communion.
I love when synchronicities show up in our lives this way. What a special moment, thanks for sharing ❤️
I love this! Ritz crackers are surprisingly delicious!
This is a lovely memory, and shared so beautifully. Thank you
Hello, Sherman Alexie. Not to take anything away from your experiences just to add that I too have had such encounters with folks that I don’t know but feel related too.
Birds of a feather 🪶
Hugs HELENLOUISE J
I love the "bus scenes" in your writing, Sherman, including in Smoke Signals.
This will keep me grinning.
the layers of the piece just keep opening up.
Like a heart released from jail
or something.
Very nice - lighthearted!
Adorable!
This is an excellent poem!
Fifty-seven years ago, on a long bus trip, I sat next to a Navajo man on his way to a job as a cook. He generously shared his Ritz crackers, a thermos of ice cold vodka, and good advice about traveling by bus.