Member Poem

You were so small when I met you,
the size of the tip of my little finger,
with an almost inaudible squeak to match.

When she opened the shoebox you were in, I couldn’t look
at you for a moment; I couldn’t believe how tiny you really were,
your tail as thin and white as a short strip of dental floss.

I held you in the palm of my hand as my sister told the story,
weighing almost nothing as she said that they’d torn down a shed
and found you curled up alone in the hollow of a cinderblock.

She brought you to me because with everything you needed,
I was the only one who could care for you.
You needed a lot of help, and I was willing to give it to you.

I named you Wilbur, like the pig
from Charlotte’s Web. It seemed fitting
for the runt of the litter, even if you were a mouse instead.

Your home became an ugly little bucket in my bathroom,
not that the scenery mattered much, because
you were so young that your eyes hadn’t opened yet.

Pillow stuffing, spare towels, and socks full of rice
kept you warm for a while, when your mother
was no longer there to help you and I couldn’t keep you with me.

They don’t make bottles small enough for baby mice,
so I fed you kitten formula every three hours
drop by drop from the tip of a tiny paintbrush.

A mother is never perfect, but as surrogate
I did my best. Between feedings, to keep you close,
I kept you tucked in the breast pocket of my softest flannel shirt.

You were with me for a week, and your eyes refused to open,
your little legs so frail. I woke to find you had left me in the early hours, stiff,
cold, nestled in a dishtowel with a belly full of milk.

I dug a hole six inches deep and laid you to rest wrapped
in a patterned paper towel. After a brief eulogy, I set a rock overtop
the dirt as a makeshift headstone that would protect you from scavengers.

It felt silly to cry for you as my mother told me there was nothing
I could have done; I felt silly as I cried because for something so small
I had done all that I could.

She said you died happy, loved, that you were simply too weak;
maybe you were never meant to make it anyway. But I gave you a chance,
because even for something so small I still felt that you deserved it.