Peanuts, peanuts in a bowl,
floral blue and white,
old Chinese porcelain blue
like the sky today, an upturned
bowl on pedestal trees. You
remember two days ago
when it all dumped out — rice,
wet and sticky while we watched
disbelieving from these windows,
thinking the world could never
go hungry with so much falling.
But today grackles — naked, poor,
immaculate — prove the nothing
that I know under the tree,
from the bottom of my bowl.