You have the bread weakened

by Simon Perchik

You have the bread weakened
and still there are too many rooms
–she liked toast and the mornings

warmed her the way each slice
would never darken enough
yet behind the pile a small sky

is handing you a night already hardened
lets you burn down the house
mouthful by mouthful –she liked the smoke

as it leaves and you go on by yourself
with this wooden table
that won’t catch fire or fill.