← v2n1, Spring 2003
Poetry · Volume 2, Number 1

The Bat

We didn't know what woke us—just something

           moving, lighter than our breathing. The world

bound by an icy ligature, our house

was to the bat a hollow, warmer cavity

           that now it could not leave. I screamed

for you to do something. So you killed it

with the broom; I heard you curse as you

           swept the air. I wanted you to do it until

you did. I have never forgiven you.