* * *
Come sit and empty your
pockets, child, and let us count
what we’ve got. We can sort it
this way: for me, love counts.
And cancer counts. Always.
Basic sad doesn’t count.
Grief is a multiple of love;
no double counting.
For you, feathers count.
Eggs count more, obviously;
eggs make feathers.
Feathers are a multiple of eggs.
Nests are the remainders
of dog hair and twigs.
How much loss equals one bird?
One blue egg in your hand.
Oh. Well, we still have love,
which is greater than
dog hair, twigs, and grief.
Two feathers in a drawer? Wait.
Show me on your fingers.
How many is cancer again?
* * *
Monica Crumback lives and writes in Michigan. Her work has been published in numerous places around the web and in print.
