Photo by Kevin Schmid on Unsplash
He opened the latched door
and the end of a life
greeted us. I covered
my nose and still retched.
Must be a dead mouse.
We have to find it.
I stretched my arms out
in hesitant exploration.
On my knees, bent
at the waist, I prayed
I would not be the one
to find the body.
My fingers spent half
an hour tracing the shape
of the paper plates
drawer, the outlined corner
of bunkbeds, the colors of
the empty spaces between
couch cushions. Eventually,
my glitter-tipped nails surfed
the crest of the fridge and found
a decomposed bag of potatoes
from last summer. I cried
out in relief, happy that I had
found a kind of rotten
I was not afraid to hold.
Sadie Shuck Hinkel is a poet and teacher from the Midwest. Her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Barren Magazine, The Manhattanville Review, and others. She lives with her husband Skyler and her cat Charlie.