Mice: A Poem About Calling for Help

 

At 3:00 am, sleep skitters

across the room,

a shy mouse, out of reach.

 

I lie in the dark

and hear more of them

in the walls, the ceiling:

old decisions, choices long past,

regrets, sorrows, fears,

yellow-toothed and dirty,

chewing wires.

At this rate lights will flicker,

come winter.

 

And so I call You,

Mouse-Catcher.

Are You there?

Will You answer?

Will You come here once again,

into the infestation?

 

I’m here, You say.

I’m here.

Cheryl Bostrom, Mice: A Poem About Calling for Help

“In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help . . . . He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me . . .” Psalm 18:6, 16-17

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