Poem by Wendell Hawken
May 15, 2023
Don’t do that! He had heard drowning peaceful but now can say— having been pinned under a golf cart in pond muck, rescuers splashing, his limbs unmoving, lungs filling with scum— it is not. Told of a glue-stuck scrum mice held alive by foot or tail, how one mouse fixed his eyes on his, sentient to sentient, as my son slipped the glue-board into the water bucket. Said that one mouse flashed in his mind when he was immobile pinned in the pond.
About Wendell Hawken
Wendell Hawken earned her MFA in Poetry at the Warren Wilson College decades after her bachelor’s degree. Publications include three chapbooks and five full collections. Hawken lives on a grass farm in the northern Shenandoah Valley.