Eviction

Since mid-March and the outset of the plague
when I mounted narrow attic stairs
wasp corpses and stink bug armor
crunching beneath my feet
to finally sort through the boxes
five years abandoned since our move,
I’d been nursing denial.

For five long months after my vision flash–
black silhouette framed
in the half moon window
thick waves of sunlight streaming 
through antique glass–
hoping for magical disappearance,
the attic door remained latched
blue painters tape layered along every seam.

Now, it’s mid- August,
180 thousand dead,
and denial’s no longer possible.

The men arrive without masks
but wear steel tipped boots
caulking guns dangling from their belts,
metal ladders that screech when extended
tucked neatly under their muscular armpits.

They scurry around the perimeter of the roof 
a startle of heavy bootsteps above
as I lower blinds and flee from room to room
to escape the roving ladders
angled against each window
caulking gun triggers cocked and aimed
at any breach bigger than a quarter.

When they’re done, the house is sealed
and a narrow silicone tube inserted
an exit only door extending 
from what had been a hole in the siding,
the likely work of a busy squirrel.

Though these residents never paid rent
neither did they receive the courtesy
of 30 days’ notice,
no yellow note pinned to the door
warning them of their imminent eviction.

Some say vampires need an invitation to enter
but what is a gaping hole in cedar shakes
if not an invitation to shelter and roost
in this dark warm eave of protection 
a safe place to birth your pup and nurse it
til it is fully fledged and ready to fly 
to a more hospitable place.

Elevation, February, 2021