Not enough fireflies winking over the lawn
to brighten even one
of those canning jars you used in childhood.
And the crows no longer roistering at dusk
behind your house. That’s where it starts
tonight—your mental list
of grievances like the reckoning
of a miser over his cache.
Or is it to master them that you recite the small
along with the large affronts—
the burnt rice, the wildfires—and you
go on listing them to yourself:
vacant beehives, beached whales,
the sea redrawing the coastline—
until the list moves closer in,
until you’re naming those no longer
at the table—husband, daughter,
friends—so by contrast even your worst losses
seem no more than breadcrumbs
swept into a cupped hand
to feed the sparrows.
Image: Daniel Feliciano, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.