She can nevernever be happy now, our daughter says, because we let the mouse go. Under the pines, at the park, while she was at school. Didn’t we know she was going to tame it in a cardboard box? Feed it saltine crumbs? Now everything’s ruined. She can’t hush, she can’t calm down, what if it had babies? They’ll be freezing down in the basement, with no mother to return. They’ll be waiting and waiting and waiting. We’ve ruined everything. She can never love us again. Gray shuddering back, white paws, bright eye.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 6.
Jessie Brown has two short collections, Lucky (Anabiosis Press) and What We Don’t Know We Know (Finishing Line), as well as poems and translations in various journals, including Comstock Review, Pensive, American Poetry Review, New Madrid, Full Bleed, Minerva Rising and others. A native of Massachusetts, she teaches in the Boston area, and collaborates on interdisciplinary projects with poetry and the visual arts.
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