Bread and Roses

The old man at the grocery store used to laugh with no humor. ”Bread and circuses,” he’d say—feed the people and you can control them. On a hot night’s fire escape, she placed like tarot cards three objects: a book of James Oppenheim’s poetry, a weathered guitar, and a single red rose. As kitchen windows betrayed the sounds of women, toiling in the thousands, baking tomorrow’s bread, she came upon a more beautiful idea.