bank account seance 

last winter when only the rats were talking
i would refresh my bank account app
in the hopes that there would be
enough. i started to see money in the wild.
pennies on the sidewalk & birds made
of dollar bills. they make it so hard to believe
in abundance. a man without a face
shouting at headless people. the tv died
& then the heater. the trees were bare. i turned
one of my credit cards into a dragonfly 
to keep it away from me. it was so angry. ate a hole
through the roof. we patched it with
nothing but our hands, holding them 
like a tiny umbrella all afternoon through a late snow.
in the dark of the upstairs when you were
already asleep, i set up candles. i sat by myself
with the stinky bugs, experiencing their
furnace mirages. i closed my eyes. held out 
my hands. i asked the bank account to 
give me a sign it was there. that we were
going to keep going. that we were going
to make it. the creature stirred, feathers & all. 
stood briefly above me. a looming god 
of dimes & numbers. i wanted to meet
the version of myself who has enough.
instead, the moon melted in the night's mouth. 
the being left. took nothing with it. 
i opened the app to find the account
still just as vacant as before. i wanted 
to crawl into. tell the numbers to dance.
here is a bag of carrots & a gallon of milk. 
the dragonfly returning through the throat.
the house not a house but a latched room
in the basement of a story. what if we had
enough. what if we had enough.