The Bread Store
— Pitigliano, Italy

by Jeff Crandall

The sign reads Panificio — Ah!
just what I’ve been looking for
all week. Bells jangle
as I open the door. Small and meek,
the wizened woman waits quietly,
her shelves nearly empty.

I ask, simply, “Bread, please.” — two
words from my phrasebook.
“Non fresco!” she shouts at me! banging
a loaf on the counter repeatedly — I hear
a loud crack. I don’t know

whether it’s the bread, the counter
or even her own brittle bone that fractures.
But her wide eyes tell me to leave, tell me
only a fool would try to buy bread
late on a Friday afternoon.