Saturday, November 25, 2023

It Feels Like Something to Be a Mouse

a gleaned nest — paper, dust, hair —

inside the wall of an old house


she wakes, fully wakes in her bed

to a low growl muffled by a body

clenched in the cat’s teeth


Mus musculus, or some other

lives longer in a house

than outside, tries to winter in


were she to turn on a light

the mouse is peanut size

sprout of tail, pale skeletal feet


drop the mouse

chase the mouse

growl


clenched, released, what the mouse

knows, is run run run


one cat, then the other cat

traps the mouse beneath a paw

trots off growling


no use in her getting up, no use anything

but lie there, over an hour, listening


three weeks to gestate

two more left to wean


morning light, she’ll find

the dead, the partial, or the missing

a streak of blood on a stair


the cats don’t settle, they prowl

inch by inch, eyes

whiskers


inside the wall

too quietly for her to hear

cries & rustlings followed by silence


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