Payback

I gave up the hens and all their eggs. I gave up my honey and all my hives. I emptied my bank. It was not enough, so I printed more money, but soon that was gone, and the printer broke. I emptied my drawers, my seventeen coin jars, my wallets. The investments and insurance accounts were already gone. I pulled out my pockets, emptying feathers, salt, and crumbs Next I gave up the smart TV, the computer, and all my furniture. I gathered up everything in a big box—not enough. I gave up my last hidden dollars and the children of my last hidden dollars. I even gave up the carton of milk in the refrigerator and the ice in the freezer. I gave up the last half box of cereal in the cupboard, the last box of pasta. I took a photo of the house and all its empty space. I took a photo of the dust streaming in the light and the last filaments of the webs in the corners of each room. I walked out to the garden. The flowers had fallen. The fruit had rotted. Only the debt grew.