Today's poem is by Sarah Blake


It's difficult to tell
rats are in the basement.
They're so quiet.
We go to bed so early.
After midnight, they
crawl out of a tunnel
and go to the neighbor's
birdfeeder and pond.
I imagine their bodies
in the moonlight,
the reflection of their
small faces in the pond
over the flagstones.
After the poison
is placed in our rafters,
we tell the neighbors
the rats might feel
sick and go for water
and die in their pond.
I can see that too.
I looked up pictures
of rats so I can
see them in any
compromised position,
like the naked woman
we can all call up
for any crime
in the news. Just as
I can see them,
the rats now, in
positions of success,
quiet and warm in a nest
between my floorboards.
Their faces the same
in victory and death.
Small as the red globe
grapes that leave
my mouth so sweet
this summer.

Copyright © 2016 Sarah Blake All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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