Joey Nicoletti: “Bread”
BREAD
My street cuts the sun
into thin slices.
I don’t remember living
anywhere else
besides the top floor
of this tiny house,
but my mother tells me
I used to sleep and dream
in her bedroom, before
she and my father got married
and moved to an apartment
with a great view
of the Throg’s Neck Bridge.
All of this happened
before I could speak,
before I said the moon was
a big, empty porcelain plate,
and the stars were crumbs
left over from Sunday dinner.
Since then, my father has taken
more shifts picking strangers up
and dropping them off
throughout the city. He has given up
smoking. He doesn’t drink
as much Schaefer, Piels, or Dewar’s
as he used to, which is why we have
more fresh semolina to eat, and almost
enough bread for a down payment
of a house that doesn’t have bars
on its windows. We’ll get there,
my mother says. Believe it.
Joey Nicoletti‘s latest books are Thundersnow (2017) and Capicola Slang (2109). He teaches creative writing at SUNY Buffalo State.