A poem by Debbie Allen

Unwelcome
By Debbie Allen

Unabashed, she births her brood in pitch black
handmade subterrane. Their home’s a sphere of
soft-chewn pulpwood, fibered glass, and paper
flutes. Their lane, a ridge, rims concrete canyons
crammed with treasures damp and old, unseemly
day to day. With eight-inch walls and humming
heat, they’re spared from gustings (apple-crisp), howls
crossing frost-laced carpet Berbered gold and
green. Pinks, wriggling, lift their outsized heads, see
nothing through black mounds of eye, intuit
just what scents to fear, and bob unbalanced,
seeking teats of two—the family does. To
drowsy young, these vibrate song, complex as
Mockingbird’s yet silent to the elsewhere
world. Now Mister Buck—he dances, rushing
madly, thigmotaxing, whiskering the
walls and air, then tripoding as sudden.
Odoring fulfills his duty. As does
caching grain and seed, potato chips, and
kibble balls. In naked paws, the does clutch
morsels chosen from the forage, fifteen
feasts or more a day. Incessant grooming
keeps all clean and messages emotion.
Silty shafts transmitting twilight’s sheen then
Moon’s beam bring to bear crepuscular feats.
Pups grow ears and tails and fur, and life is
good, it seems. Then other beings find what’s
living underground, see subterranean
subterfuge, and diagnose their duty.

So unwelcome is the task. Unwelcome
are the snaps. Unwelcome now come tiny
screams. They seem not plausible but are—these
outward signs of racing hearts, a hundred
ticks to ten of ours. Unwelcome now come
salted tears for humble nothing somethings
versus someones grand. Unwelcome is the
irony. How can one be but House Mouse?
Drawn to foe by nature, needing us for
life, imperiled by imperative, they
can’t not obey and risk as outcome death.

Debbie allen’s poem “unwelcome” appeared in the Winter 2022 Edition with a regrettable typo and appearing here is a corrected version. We hope you enjoy!

Photo by Enola McClincey