mouse hole

when the mouse left, i started using
her hole. first to rid the house of dimes
& then to shout through. i put my lips
right up to the crease & cried,
"please please please no more." there are
not enough days to rest. there are not
enough hours to sleep in. sometimes 
i go out to the sun & feed her eggs
in the hopes she might get to lethargic 
to spit the big noon light. in the apple fields
as a kid the trees were never as tall as 
i wished they were. i picked as fast as i could
my fingers becoming mice. all the holes
my desire slipped through. i sometimes ate
as i worked. i was allowed to eat as many
apples as i could. they had never seen
a girl consume so many mice. one night
i tried to escape out through the hole. i went 
thumb fist. shoved & shoved & i only 
got bigger. i wept, imagining all the times
the mouse had passed back & forth 
with ease through her fissure. the world
is always bigger than it should be. when it's
not breeding season, toads only travel 
a hundred feet or so in a day. i have met several
in the yard. i ask them why they don't use
the mouse hole & they skip away,
terrified of what i might mean. i have considered
that closing the hole could provide all of us
some comfort. after all, the mouse sewed unrest 
through our utensil drawer. still i can not bear 
the thought of laying down to sleep
without a little portal of moonlight 
spilling into the space beneath the sink. 
the only way out. no, i cannot shut it.