CLAUDIA EMERSON

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.  

   Contributor's notes
   Pitching Horseshoes
   Possessions
   Surface Hunting
   A Review of Pinion, an Elegy, Vol. 1, No. 2

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