Bat Inside

I am a house of fear— all of the doors to the rooms shut to keep it in one place.

I know where it is not—the living room where it swooped and shadowed last night as we watched TV. I saw it sail into the kitchen

and the rest of the house. Is this how infection spreads? An invisibility lurks as I tiptoe & shudder in place

with my deepest want—a cessation of skin-thin wings. But what if it’s slipped through what’s almost closed, eased back into sky—all the fear unreal?

Something entered my home, has worked itself into breath & I want to let go of what might be already gone.

For now I sit outside, feel the invisible wind, more calming than the invisible bat

I imagine flapping & landing on everything I love— folded wings curled into a bud.

Sarah Dickenson Snyder