She took it when she left,
holding its heft in her hand,
the iron head with the two
claws ready to pull out nails,
jimmy open stuck doors.
When he brought the children back,
he hid the hammer under his coat.
Fled down the stairs.
Since she still had a key to their house,
she retrieved it, placing it with
the other tools in her new toolbox.
Again it was gone.
They scowled at each other.
She unlocked his back door,
hunted through the chaos—
stereo missing its speakers, his half
of the sectional couch, cabinet filled
with good china and leaded glass—until
she found it propped against the window
in their daughter’s empty bedroom.