Bread Alone

For the Sake of a Single Word

15 For the Sake of a Single Word Forty-two days without breathing Forty-two days without knowing what was under or below or around her or even inside. She felt consumed by a storm of unknowing. History’s ghosts sank back into their graves— with textbooks as headstones: Here. Lies. And the stars were as far off as love— everywhere visible but nowhere alive. Forty-two sunsets. Forty-two thousand miles of distance between her and the glow. The radio brought a moment of rest. So did her children. She reached a miniature conclusion which came in the form of a word: No. ...