Inventory

After reading "Altars" by Austin Rodenbiker

This poem is sad 
and lonesome, 
sad and lonesome. 

Barely more than 
a list, an inventory 
of objects placed 
upon altars. 

Numbers, colors – 
things placed so easily – 
grouped descriptions 
filling up
the spaces of people. 

How sad
and unending, 
sad and unending.

"Altars" by Austin Rodenbiker
Barry “J.T.” Rogers, 1965–2004

       Two sprigs of rosemary,
               a champagne flute,
                                   a black candle.

    Three leaves from an apple tree,
a thin silver chain,
    a baseball cap.

                                               Two blue kerchiefs,
                                   twenty holly berries,
                               a bar of chocolate.

    Gray sand,
nine VHS tapes,
a pour of clear water.

                                   Clean sheets,
                                   a loop of wire.

            A swan orchid in full bloom,
four pieces of pyrite,
    a shard of glass shaped like the moon.

                                      The six dozen dooryard violets
                                              I gathered last autumn in
                                              second harvest,
                       one Celtic knot that is small
                                                       and small, and red
                                                                  and red.