Will

Small red tin box sealed in shrink-wrap, cut open

with pocketknife, pried apart, its goods aerate the

office. I pluck white sliced chalky cylinders; let them

simmer in my mouth. I exhale peppermint scent

through my nose. Cut open the official letter. A map

in letters on a white page. My teeth grind mints.

Photocopies slightly off alignment, I blur lines.

Equations disperse family through land documents,

position each generation. I am only fourth in line.

Some plots are gumbo after winter thaw. Sections

stitched together with extended relatives. This ritual,

personal death papers drafted. I am partial to this

grassland; the place of deer marks and porcupine

quills, ledger extrapolates history. I refold estate

document, place it back into its envelope.