Three mice, blind, naked, pink,
with pink tail, white feet,
their eyes sealed shut.
The child discovers them
on a garage shelf
in shredded paper.
She moves closer, hears
their tiny squeak. Their smallness
frightens her. Their
helplessness. She could
crush them with her hand.
Where is their mother?
Did these
begin the way
her parents told her
babies do? Curious.
So delicate.
Where is—
Feeding the—
Shhhh. She leans closer.
What if harm—
Close enough to—
Mothers should stay near.

 

Susan Kolodny’s collections are “Preserve” (Finishing Line Press, 2017) and “After the Firestorm” (Mayapple Press, 2011). Her poems appear in New England Review and in other journals and several anthologies. A retired psychoanalyst, Kolodny lives and writes in Oakland, CA.