By day the bat is cousin to the mouse. He likes the attic of an aging house. His fingers make a hat about his head. His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead. He loops in crazy figures half the night Among the trees that face the corner light. But when he brushes up against a screen, We are afraid of what our eyes have seen: For something is amiss or out of place When mice with wings can wear a human face.
From Collected poems of Theodore Roethke
My Doubleday, 1938
Copyright 1938 by Theodore Roethke.
All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission of Random House Inc. Copyright 1938 by Randon House Inc. For further permissions information, contact Doubleday Permissions Dept c/o Random House Inc., 1540 Broadway, New York, NY 10036.
Theodore Roethke (1908–1963) is the author of 10 poetry collections, including The Waking (Doubleday, 1953), which won the Pulitzer Prize. Born in Saginaw, Michigan, his father was a German immigrant who owned and ran a 25-acre greenhouse. He attended the University of Michigan.