"A language even paper would refuse."¹

by Carolyn Forché

We spoke
so long ago
of being

Yet
we broke
the bread
we ate

And moved off
to sit
alone

Each
alone

Each
marked
by desire

Each
yielding
to bad faith

Each hearing
promises
that were not made

We broke away
over unkept
promises

That
were
never
made

The paper
the bread came in
now torn
turns  brittle
and brown.