Reprinted with permission from Pemmican Press.

And Thanks to Chris Butters

Marilyn Zuckerman

Before the auction,
the realtor
puts out a sign
and places flowers on the windowsill.
Someone has mowed the lawn
shut off the water and electricity
-still the swing in the back yard
moves as though someone is in it,
a doll is found kicked to the back of a closet
a jar of jelly in the fridge
letters in the attic
a rubber boot in the mudroom
a dog bed in the basement
daffodils straggle in the grass
-a half-finished patio
the stack of bricks nearby.

The family that only yesterday
wore the boot
played with the doll
called the dog
had a job,
led prudent lives-
rent a van,
slip away like felons
in the dead of night
Once debtors were thrown into prison
sometimes for life-
now families live in grungy motels,
overflowing shelters
sleep in their cars
on the street
under bridges
or in flimsy tent cities.

In the movie, The Salt of the Earth,
when the sheriff came and his men flung the family's belongings to the sidewalk,
neighbors returned everything back inside and sent the sheriff's men packing.