a history of loneliness

at our old house with wasps in the walls 
& thunder storms in its hair 
i would go to the cool concrete basement 
with a handful of french fries to feed the mice. 
our little secret. salt grains on my fingers. 
mice came child-like. soft-footed. fearful.
blackberry jewel eyes. i called them friends. 
they came to trust me. sitting near my bare feet 
as i brought a new morsel each day. sunflower seeds &
pineapple & blueberries. tiny pink tongues. 
at first, they just darted away, food in mouth. 
but they learned to linger with me there.

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