an apology to the 
bats we evicted from our attic.

i want to make an empty apology
to the bats we evicted from
the attic of our house in kutztown--
the house with the painted
porch teeth & the green
mailbox knocked askew 
so many years ago by a snow-plow
passing by--
i hope one of you is still listening.
there's nothing i'm going
to say that you don't already know
so i'm
i'm writing this in chalk on
the drive way--
i'm thinking of what it
would be like to sleep
in the garage full of
deflated bike tires & lop-sided
sun-bleached hola hoops--
we can't fit cars in it anymore-- 
i like to hope some of you still
haunt the property--
black wings beating veins
on the cheek bones of the moon--
i find your shadows hanging upside
down when i left up my 
arms-- a whole row of bat bodies
all dangle listlessly
until i blink & i'm left only
with the sensation of their
toes latched onto the soft
under-skin
of my arms-- on occasion
i even grow my own wings--
my body contorts-- crumpled
into an apostrophe--
i would rather be haunted 
then feel the kind of guilt
you've left me with--
the kind of guilt that only
comes from forgetting--
removed you all to make space for
sinking cardboard boxes, purple
hearts & gold pocket watches 
ticking backwards
& backwards
my family has a tradition 
of collecting-- i could have
you over to visit & show you
the shelves of stamps next
to boxes of my mother's unopened
glass dolls--
i hope you didn't forget anything
when you left--
my father describes opening the 
windows & waving his arms wildly 
until 
black-fur bodies poured 
out the mouth
of the attic window-- wing & teeth
& clawed fingers--
if you were to return one
day i would only as that
you write back to me--
no one gets enough letters--
i would have sent you one
if i had known where to 
postmark a message to a colony of
bats--
put the flag up on the green
wobbly mailbox--
we can sit on the floor of the 
attic--
open box after 
box-- open
the windows & light up
the floor
up with the gleam
of the moon.