the afterlife of mice
by Kathleen Hellen
out of the corner of his eye a fleeting shadow caught.
a sentience rustling in the dark
before the cold snap, the grass still warm
and green, the crickets still a racket in the laurel.
would he put aside the trap? slow poison?
hold the runt in a bucket, send it far away
to fields of goldenrod and honey?
or so he must imagine
afterlife. a van that arrives like a kidnapping.
was he lost? sniffing at the absence?
Kathleen Hellen is the recipient of the James Still Award, the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, and prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review. Her debut collection Umberto’s Night won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House. She is the author of The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Meet Me at the Bottom, and two chapbooks.
