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
Passing Grade— with a nod to Charles Olson
yes And my ass
itches
(“What are all these thorns
on the rose?
“Good grief, cherie, don’t you know yr ass
from my elbow?”)
Try again
to hold the nut
still
(yr fist
wrapped around the
handle (greasy, yup
Who does not rip away petals
will never bear fruit
no matter the freezing rain
glazing yr weeds
A Square Corner
completes the back of the house
what a fine idea of yours to leave it
until last, so easy to climb
in & out, birds & wild animals
along with girls & boys, gash of fresh
air, natural light, the random factors
keep the job from becoming stale
different takes on the unexpected
occur & recur, a hailstorm’s
droppings, the bleaching out, shadow
mixing, nettles & claws
also the circle of chairs the PTA
placed along the driveway
that anyone might sit & watch
all year for discarded trimmings
three bent nails, a sawdust mound
hence analysis won’t be required
everyone already knows
a red clay doorstep is what you want
Who’s on First
surgical removal of the corpus callosum —
the “wide thick nerve tract connecting the left & right
cerebral hemispheres” — alleviated epilepsy
& also exposed the apparent existence of a second
though speechless self
every time you dither
consider your second self
might epilepsy be the frenzy of too much choice?
in one case the speaking self refused to name
his girl friend, whereas the non-speaking self
wrote down her name
if a second self exists
we must be a committee
neither self is first nor second, they must be peers
go to town or stay at home
eat lunch or drink beer
read a book or sing a song
the one that speaks merely voices the decision
is morality
the voice of our better self? our noisier self?
think about postmortems
pleasure or pain
gain or loss
why would one self be “better” than the other?
surely either self can take either side
what if we were to acknowledge our second self?
if both selves could speak, & simultaneously
would we be able to make decisions?
imagine if we had three cerebral hemispheres
Queen Mab— in re Percy Bysshe Shelley
midst the ebb and flow of human things
the brood of ignorance
crawls on the loathing earth
subjected and plastic, poisonous
and undying worms moulder there
the worm has made his meal
of premature and violent death
living pullies of a dead machine
tendrils of the parasite leave nothing
yet animal life was there
things that walk, swim, creep, or fly
grey light, so cold, so bright, so still
when will the morning come?
broad and yellow moon
but the mushroom of a summer day
Family Reunion
the guest bedroom holds many more things than a bed —
shelving packed with clothes, boxed items, loose items
large & small, dust & cat hair everywhere including
the bedcover — when I pull it back to look at the sheets
I find a cockroach dead on the pillow, the rest of house
mirrors the bedroom, overstocked & undercleaned
I pick at my supper, excuse myself before the others
return to the bedroom where I squirrel cockroach
plus pillow behind a closet door, fully clothed in the bed
I read, worry, barely sleep, & in the morning I stubbornly
tearfully insist that I must leave, everyone’s confused
they protest, later I learn they were irate, I organize
a ride to the airport where I rent a car, drive two days
home, lick my wound — the breach takes forever to heal
Common Sense
if lichens & moss cling with rhizines
with holdfasts to tree bark, to boulders
to glacial erratics . . . if a bowerbird
ferries horsehair, mowed hay, hedge
trimmings, fern fronds, blueberries
weaves all to a cavernous nest . . . if
an animal has pockets, has a pocket
carries in her pocket a wooden bead
a rusted ball bearing, a cashew nut
any kind of amulet, of charm . . . how
can we fathom what anything else feels?