when I stomp toward the bunny
it doesn’t move
Stephanie shrieks
and thrusts a snow shovel at the wash-
board under my feet
spiders scatter
wind scrapes rust and cinder from shells
Grandma’s crystal-clear kitchen window
lands another sparrow in the columbine
God
everything out here
seems to be something to find
beer can
belly-shot to snag a devil’s claw
farmhouse
willed to the wooden skeleton of a jukebox
colossal tracks in ancient mud
as dust and gnats electrify the sun
I rip my shirt climbing into a field
to hunt wildflowers for the service
Stephanie and I drop to our knees
in the shade of a superannuated tractor
and smack hell out of the plots with our palms
we set neatly on each grave the shards
of a throwaway 1×6 we bound into crosses
with grass and twine chewed thin by the sun
our blood barking for jam-smeared Sweetheart
we scatter loveroot blossoms over the graves
after lunch I fall asleep
my great-grandfather casts a line
[the smallest net permissible]
and draws it into an arc
ahead of infinite invisible jaws
upstream I dip a hardback into the rich melt-
water
droplets lope from the volume’s spine
painting fish eyes on the aerodynamic shore
downstream Grandpa’s pole bows
like a sapling set to snare a rabbit
In Montana
Stephanie drags a King-
sized sack filled with knickknacks
into a copse of paper birch jang-
ling kindling over fro-
zen ponds
Stephanie kneels at the center of a pond
chosen for its roundness
she sheds her mittens
reaches into the pillowcase
and withdraws a large sun-
bleached bone
I wake to a fire
place gaping at my chest
passing through the kitchen I get a whiff
of cereal grains
coffee grounds
tobacco spit
I drift into the living room
Matthew’s on the floor reading a comic book
Grandma’s smoking a cigarette
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