by Hume Linty


The flakes of mud that froze

upon my tree-trunk legs

couldn’t protect me from

the mouse that ate my memory.


He crossed their leaping cliffs

and ignored their deafening wails

to crawl, unnoticed, into my colossal ears.

Perhaps he mistook my earwax for cheese

and nibbled until years were shredded

between his teeth,

or he simply thought I was too plugged

up to hear anymore.


I don’t understand why we fear them –

those small and irrelevant creatures;

nor why we dread the winter

that spits upon my carcass

and pulls apart my bones—

whose feelings rest in the stomach

of the mouse that ate my memory.


Creative Writing 2018 Poetry Project (poetry demo) Copyright © by Emily Hunt. All Rights Reserved.

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