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A Family Story

Like that mouse

who clung to the cabin wall

by its pale, delicate nails,

its shapely knuckles curved tight,

and then its tail flicking

side to side like a tongue over

its plump thumb of a body,

as if joining the argument,

clawing its way up, swaying

until, in the morning, the soft

collapsed body of the mouse,

stuck half in, half out of the wall,

as though he’d heard beckoning

noises from the field, as though

he’d tried to drive straight through

and batter his small way there.

from Walking the Dog’s ShadowFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2011
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Deborah Brown Poems

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