M. J. Arcangelini

SLICED BREAD


Morning sun cuts through

venetian blinds, projected

onto the sheer drapes like

sliced white bread, the airy

kind they sold to my mother

when I was a kid, in colorful

plastic balloon bags my father

would put behind his dinner

plate to prop his newspaper

against while we all ate in

silence so he could read about

what was happening elsewhere.





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1 comment:

  1. AnonymousOctober 20, 2024 at 4:53 PM

    Wow, powerful! Love the unspoken tension of it.

    ReplyDelete

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