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| "What does this mean?" is not the question. "What does this mean to YOU?" is more like it. |
faulted when he halts, mid-step,
inhaling yeast and sweetness, grains,
free-flying, airborne molecules
of what he can't afford to buy.
If only smells could fill his belly,
he would stand there all day long upon
the sidewalk, getting fatter with each
breath. He needs more, however, than the
promise that the breads inside exist
that would, if circumstance allowed,
renew his energy and strength
until a shop-girl spots him through the window,
pulls a coin from her own purse, withdraws
the freshest loaf from where it rests, and takes
it, smiling, to the man who gets a lesson,
instantly, of what it is to love.
If it happened in a movie then their eyes would
lock, and in the next scene they would be
together, laughing or (if rated R) entangled
in the sheets. If it was a documentary, then
politics would supersede the tenderness,
a statement made for lowering the taxes,
crying out for jobs or more (or less) food programs
for the poor, but since it's just a bit of poetry, then
hungry men will will see themselves more clearly
and be thankful for the shop-girls in their lives
who live to offer them the nourishment
desired and gladly pay the price in hopes
the bread is something they can share. But
sad the shop-girl who is only given crumbs,
and sad the hungry man who walks too quickly
by the window, and is missed.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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