Inventory

 

Down at the grocery store, tacked to the board,

flapping in the wind 

the business card says 

"Husband 4 A Day." 

She takes a few, 

tucks them into May, then June,

but now it's August

and she says the boy can use them 

as bookmarks, placeholders,

kindling. She'd still like a husband,

or at least a keepsake,

a light that switches on

when anyone comes near. 

She'd like more books, fewer rocks, 

a path in the woods. 

At night she hears knocking 

from the fields, something

undoes in the wind.

In the morning, the floors creak

and hum because what's gone 

is also there, singing 

inside the clutch of stones 

the boy slingshots into the air. 

Inventory, from The Game of Boxes, by Catherine Barnett. Graywolf Press, 2012.