Jose Padua: Breaking Bread

Although we call it breaking
bread there are few acts of
breaking less violent than this,
and though dinners sometimes
erupt, and lunches boil over
into menace and disgust, the
breaking of bread, if we say it
as such, rarely leaves room
for such resentment. Bread is
broken, butter is spread and
red apples in a bowl between us
shine under the evening’s pale
yellow light. This is how we
break into conversation, recalling
a day’s swift events with slow
movements; this is how we break
into love, each of us falling apart
splendidly, barely making a sound.

Photo: Jose Padua