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The Puerto Rican Literature Project The Puerto Rican Literature Project

The Sound of Bread

Irene Pérez

1999

Who knew kneading dough at 2:00 am 

for morning’s bread 

was an act of vibration, fast and small 

and loud enough to be heard over time? 

It’s just you and your cigarette at work, 

now and then ashes falling in soft dynamic.

I know you did not mean for this dark dust 

to sink displaced, lost, gray, 

to disconnect you from the rhythm,

from your hands repeatedly pressing and shaping,

finding the round form, hiding burnt residue.

Chords need their moments of tension, you say, 

singing along with Felipe Rodríguez, 

his begging lilt for otra copa de champán.

And like all songs, this one ends.

Now you we tell with mice 

running from under those flaming ovens,

scuffling over crusts of bread by your feet.

There is harmony here,

but you dare not give in to this definite theme:

it sounds like the pocket change 

you forgot to leave on the kitchen counter 

before you escaped.

The screech of coins could not be heard in San Juan, 

so you took off, leaving nothing, 

not even the most precious sound:

the human voice.

Rights: Irene Pérez; Arte Público Press

Spanish translation coming soon