Access by Michael Keshigian

One day in the garden shed,
beneath a pallet of pellets,
a baby mouse, the next day,
a garter snake with an inflated belly,
who, upon seeing me enter,
quickly cocked its head,
curled the three stripes
upon its back into a coil
then froze. A day later,
with flashlight and stick in hand,
I poked, but it was gone,
though each time I entered,
that entire summer,
I searched and stalked,
thinking it found a home.
It elevated a level of apprehension,
coupled with a touch of curiosity
I could not deter.
This uninvited guest,
trespassed at will,
in the shed as well as my mind,
entering both through an unseen crevice,
with no indication of when or how
it might finally depart.
Curled in a dark corner
where no light could reach,
rationality had little effect,
the unwelcome intruder
exploited undiscovered apertures
of which I had no clue
and fostered my anxiety
with a slimy, intrusive,
and unrestrained complexity.

Michael Keshigian has been published in the Sierra Nevada Review, Oyez Review, Chiron Review, California Quarterly, and Edison Literary Review among many others. Author of 14 poetry collections, he has 7 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations.