ten kindergarten children pushing one another on the swings, chuckling
about how Sarah unhooked a trout and let it swim back–
nine Earl Gray tea bags strewn along Hampshire Street, shimmering
oil sheens of cinnamon, jasmine, citrus reaching for the storm drain–
eight mink jackets piled on a bench in front of a korean barbeque
joint, ingrained with The Jacobson’s in bold verdana, forest-green–
seven toyotas lined up, single file like hybrid ducklings, dawdling
from Sunderland to Amherst, shadowing black labradoodles on the sidewalk–
six french tourists with polyester bandanas brushing more sweat
than even the sky’s cotton balls have held; the Sahara, half a world away–
five Indian elephants barreling through naked branches, matting the feathers
of downed birds, fellow victims, pebbled with their ancestors’ wrinkles–
four drenched cigarette butts twirling around in the Deerfield River, morphing
into baby tadpoles, flaunting their orange tails, their pale bodies–
three bald heads, checkered overalls, lattice hats
plowing the withered mouths of weeds and browning begonias–
two ladybugs, one hind leg longer than the other, carrying
my diaspora of pomegranate seeds down my right arm—
one barn brushed with the dampness of autumn leaves, tarred
with ashes from last night’s bonfire, still smelling of roadkill and rubber–
