MICE - carol deminski

I lay in bed. Eyes open. Every sound is a mouse scrabbling across the floor. He hasn't called in days. I haven't called him either. I hear a click and imagine a baby mouse gnawing on electrical wires behind the dresser. There's tapping. It must be mice crawling behind the baseboard. I can't sleep. I'm not thinking about why we're not talking. The mice are chewing holes through sweaters in the bottom drawers, curling up beneath where the pilot light keeps the stove warm. When the sky lightens all the tapping and ticking and scrabbling stops. I don't hear the mice anymore. I get up and turn on all the lights but I see no sign of them. I didn't get any sleep. We're still not talking. Tonight or tomorrow night.

Carol Deminski
Letters From New Orleans
Rob Walker