Soundzine

Rat

read by arun sagar

At first, it was mere suspicion ; a doubt

that flit across my floor at night,

vanishing in the morning's residue

of cobwebs and dust. I paid it no attention.

Then came the strong, rodent smell

lurking under my bed like a bad dream.

I set traps. The cheese grew moldy.

The poison wasted away. Slowly,

signs appeared everywhere: half-moons

chewed in my papers, wires gnawed,

the table soiled with droppings.

This lasted weeks. I twitched

at every sound, I imagined rustlings

in the dark hem behind my shelves,

something moving in the grey cones

spread by flowerpots. Once,

I could have sworn the shadows

deepened into fur and flesh, sinew,

eyes that glinted in my torch's beam.

I crawled after it, into the darkest places,

found cracks so large they swallowed my arm.

I felt secure there, where I could know

what came out and what went in; I grew

accustomed to the blackness, the absences

I hollowed out with my greying hands,

while each day the sun foraged through

my curtains, probing with its long,

cold fingers, its white sleeves.