Summer 2005 • Vol. XXVII No. 3 Poetry |

My Uncle Rudy in Sunlight

Out of the hole my father and his brother had dug below the drainage tiles of my uncle's barn, hundreds of mice streamed. These brothers had dug the hole, then snaked a hose deep into the nest the mice had made, and no way out but one. They'd started getting bad, and when my aunt found them in her pantry, well, something had to be done. I was five years old, and I stood behind these brave men and watched between their legs as the mice began to come: first only a few, shaking the water from their fur, blinded for a moment in sunlight, and then, may I say, a flood of mice; more mice than anyone had anticipated; even I knew that. My uncle had a hoe, and my father ran for the rake, and you know what happens next. This was fifty years ago, and I don't know what business it thinks it has here, in this life, now. Yet in the dizzying span of memory, that morning in the country of mice is as clear to me as my own face, which I love, and as clear as the face of my uncle, moving in and

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My Waiting Brain

By Bruce Weigl

Out of the hole my father and his brother had dug below the drainage tiles of my uncle's barn, hundreds of mice streamed. These brothers had dug the hole, then […]

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