Tuesday, July 31, 2012


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.

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