Given the signs and wonders, the bleeding  
moons and whatnot, I inventory  
the cupboards: a small cylinder 
of nutmeg, two cans of tuna  
packed in oil, an old brick 
of brown sugar, birthday candles, elbow  
macaroni, oyster sauce. No heads  
of cattle, no vacuum-sealed heirloom  
seed, no talisman apropos for the dimming 
of days, just rain boots and drawers full of dead 
batteries and rubber bands. These lovely kitchen 
curtains I suppose could work  
for tourniquets, but it took me all season  
last year before I learned 
you have to thin your seedlings or else 
none will bear and the larder  
will empty. What if my glasses break  
when the rivers flow backwards. What then.