​And a wire basket piled high with chicken eggs:
little ones not much bigger than a robin’s
treasure.  Average ones, too, spotted brown
coated with fine feather down.  So many shells
have cracked from the weight.
Shall I deduct those?

And alfalfa left too long in the field,
cut just before a late wash in the rain
making a poor yield.  Tried leaving the wilted
leaves in the sun to dry out the mold
but it was all in vain. 

And my family’s horse, which pulled
faithfully all these years.  He is spavined
and mostly lame now.  The grandchildren
learned to ride on his sturdy back, fifteen hands
tall.  Take the saddle, tack: you may have it all
to satisfy the law.  

I won’t be needing a receipt.
Only
leave a little grain, some wheat
to plant in yonder plot where I can grow
old, and thresh upon Araunah’s floor
as my eyes close, feeling the seed
fall between my fingers.
If you take even this
I will have
nothing
left to
sow.

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