someone carried in the groceries
carrot stalks ringed in a rubber band
there was a falling out in the kitchen
over the new light bulb

everything was being extinguished
no one would eat except standing at the refrigerator
no one would take responsibility for anything
more than the comings and goings

this was a family of two crows
cawing at their own spectacle digging
earthworms crying crying crying

cross your fingers said the mother
to her no children if you were pearls
i would count you and still have nothing

the last word she repeated to whispers

outside there was weather—swirls
of circling windblown whispers