TO A BAT

Pulling on

leather gloves

to pick a groggy

bat from above

the front door,

I put it

outside

in a hydrangea bush.

Where are you going now,

Mr. Bat?

Can you see

your brothers and sisters

fluttering over the treetops?

Can you see

the world is crammed,

corrupt, infuriating,

shallow, sanctimonious,

and insincere?

Thank you for afflicting

my life.

Last night, even the cockroaches

looked up—Wat dat?—

as you flared around,

with blind eyes and pure will,

echolocating.

Ducked under

the kitchen table,

on which four eggs

huddled in a bowl,

I heard chirping—

accept and forgive,

accept and forgive—

almost beyond human hearing,

and my heart’s atria beat faster,

almost healing.