A mouse skitters along
the baseboard, stops,
then waits, apprehensive;
her whiskers alive
to the slightest air.
Shadows blossom on the walls.
Fear pads through the room,
aware of nothing but itself
growing inside others
like a worm in a rose.
What with so many cuts
and small pricks upon
our faces and fingertips,
fear bleeds into the air
like flowers from god’s mouth:
fear flourishes on nothing,
feeds on nothing, blooms
from the nothing we carry
like bags of broken glass
spilling into our hands.
The mouse sits still
surrendering to the fear,
surrendering to the waves,
knowing she will lose herself,
knowing she will drown.
(January 31, 2023)
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