The Bread
She said: it’s the bread
and from his narrow bed
the boy answered: thank you
and the sleek black-haired girl
who brought it
left a pound at the door
a small garden down below
withered without flowers
the words that rose between them
were never without bitterness
among all those
exchanged in the white mornings
for the life of bodies
throughout the world.
—Jean Follain (translated by W. S. Merwin)
—found in fifty-nine poems: A Special APR Supplement (American Poetry Review Vol. 33, No. 6; November-December 2004. This poem, ca. 1943-1971)