i grew up in a house with animals in the walls
i grew up in a house with animals in the walls.
that deep thrashing marked by scritching.
claws against dry wall. the flurrying of
a wing. the weeping of an animal tongues.
my wall paper was covered with knotted vines
& if i wasn't careful they would reach out to
wrap themselves around my ankles. i told the
walls i am not an animal & the walls would
retract their foliage. the animals were hungry.
starving. how did they get in there? how does
anyone get stuck on the other side of
a wall in a house? i stole a hammer from
my father & punched a hole just big enough
to slip food through. sour cream & onion chips
sunflower seeds & peanuts. the animals munched
& i stayed up all night listening closely for
the sound of their teeth. chewing chewing.
a thick pink tongue like a whole other creature.
then of course there was the night where
the animals would call. practicing their voices
& throwing them through the skeleton of the house.
i would pace the halls waiting for it to stop.
i would wish i could be one of them & crawl
into the bones of the house to be wild.
none of this noise ever woke up anyone else.
i listened to my dad snore along with
the noises of the other inhabitants. i was
the ghost in the stairwell. standing there.
not ascending or descending. stuck like a
light fixture trying to determine whether or not
it would be worth it to live as a human.
that urge-- that need to scream. i knocked
on the walls & the animals hushed. i said
could you please shriek as loud as you ever have?
i wanted everyone to wake up. i wanted them
to feel the animals in their bodies like i did.
the scream came & made wind chimes of my ribs.
i felt a hollow rolling like a bowling ball
on a hard wood floor & then the volume as
the creatures voices each became more audible.
i rushed back to my room to put my ear
to the opening. i wanted to
be rattled & rattled i was. a tuning fork.
the cheeks of drum. the animals putting their lips
right in front of my ear. my body as a
receiver. my mom turning over in bed.
dad snoring. the silence after a too loud fracture.
nothing. no one roused. my speaking into
the hole thank you thank you & the animals
returning to their usual patterns of sound.
i tried to tell them there's animals in
this house but no one wanted
to listen so i put my hand over the hole
& told them there was nothing to see.
i scritched at night with the animals.
i chattered & crawled & never slept. not once.
Robin Gow 