For days after the death of
Mother, mice poured from her mouth.
We laid buckets under the
dais on which her coffin set to catch the mice after
they had spewed out. As fast as Sister took away a bucket, another filled.
What were we to do with all these mice?
Father said since
they had come out of Mother's mouth we should worship them.
But how were we to worship
so many? When we opened the cabinets the mice tumbled out. Mice
turds were sprinkled all over
the floors and counters.
Father searched for references
to mice in the Bible to prove they were sacred.
Sister poured another bucket
into the sink already filled with scrambling gray bodies.
In the living room I bent over
Mother's coffin. When my lips touched her cold forehead, the
pouring from her mouth.
Then from out of her eyeholes
two mice poked their heads and stared at me as if they wanted
but couldn't find the words.