Rustling
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Rustling

 Heather A Harris
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 Heather A Harris
Rustling
by Heather A Harris  FollowFollow
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Heather Harris was born, raised, and currently lives in Akron, Ohio, though she has spent time in other places. As a recent grad school dropout...read more and department store employee, she has resorted to poetry in part to cope with the fact that adulthood has proven itself to be just as terrifying and icky as she imagined it back in third grade.
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Rustling
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The crawlspace is accessed through
a knee-high cutout in my room covered
with a nailed on piece of plywood
painted to match the walls. Behind it
is a rustling, too loud and singular to be mice.
Squirrels, most likely, but I’ve heard stories

about an attic full of bats, an apartment
overrun with breeding opossums,
a woman who had absolutely no idea
there was a homeless man living in her crawlspace
until she opened it during some home renovations.

I imagine all of them on the other side
of that makeshift partition, hunkered down
in the pink insulation. When night falls they’re roused –
raccoons, bats, possums, squirrels –
by the homeless man frying up bologna
sandwiches on his camping stove.

They chatter amongst themselves
while we day-dwellers dream, praying
that we never become unsatisfied,
that we never find a reason to open the door.

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