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saltjar 

Katy Gunn

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leave the lid off the saltjar and dew clumps up the salt with the door off its hinges like that and when did that happen and why is it greening at the base propped against a stump in the garden its gold handle perfectly shined

I will guard says the girl in the doorway her long arms crossing the house to pebble the mashed potatoes her span is enormous some days

might it be too small or large she says fondling a bowl or deer trail through the forest

when her wings are too small to fill the doorway she piles up curtain rods mushy books raccoon skins logs books cardboard boxes seashells from there is no sea around here but she salts the potatoes platters pitchers teacups and mugs until all fourteen sweaty sheets dry heavy with crystals