Kevin Casey is a graduate of the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, and received his graduate degree at the University of Connecticut. His work has been accepted by The Orange Room Review, The Milo Review, Small Print Magazine, Tule Review, Turtle Island Review, The Monarch Review, and others. He currently teaches literature at a small university in Maine.
"It's gone behind the deacon's bench!"
We grab the empty maple bucket
by the stove, that's just for show
and hasn't tasted sugar now
in over fifty years.
He moves the shoes aside to find
the shivering taupe form flowing through
the kitchen. No pretty mouse,
just a vole, head like a pot handle,
headed for the fridge.
"Quick, before the cats come in!"
He grows grave; fear and duty
conspire, and the world stands still:
the tiny hand scoops the scrap
of fluid fur inside.
The bucket's lip is tilted down
beside the barn, the beast
and sisters saved; confirmed,
the boy returns to his plate
of sacramental toast, now cold.