The Bat

We didn't know what woke us—just something
moving, lighter than our breathing. The world
bound by an icy ligature, our house

was to the bat a hollow, warmer cavity
that now it could not leave. I screamed
for you to do something. So you killed it

with the broom; I heard you curse as you
swept the air. I wanted you to do it until
you did. I have never forgiven you.

by Claudia Emerson

Other poems of EMERSON (45)

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