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Adam D. Weeks

The Young Believer Finds a Dead Mouse on the Walk to School

I want to grow this body into a world, to have my own orbit, to figure out how

to live somewhere farther. This morning I found a dead mouse on my walk

to school, the small body curled into a half moon at the base of a tree sprout

-ing from the sidewalk. I sat down on the ground next to the small


animal. I considered its paw, its small claws, what little it knew

of the ground it laid on. You know, a mouse can rear its little body

down and launch itself almost ten inches into the air—such little sinew

and muscle yet so much power—I wonder what the little thing


was jumping for this time. If it made its way up, up to the second story

balcony above me. If it looked to the sky, saw those little pockets

of light and thought about making a new home in one of the tiny

holes. I wonder if it looked back, told its mother don’t worry, I’ve got this


and launched like a rocket. I wonder how the cool air felt against its graphite

grey body, if it went on impact, set like the moon against the night.

Updated Author Photo - Adam Weeks.jpg



Adam D. Weeks has a BA in Creative Writing from Salisbury University and is currently an elementary literacy tutor in Baltimore. He is the social media manager for The Shore, a poetry reader for Quarterly West, and a founding editor of Beaver Magazine. He won the 2022 Third Wednesday Poetry Contest, has been a Pushcart Prize nominee and has poetry published or forthcoming in Fugue, Poet Lore, Sugar House Review, Sweet: A Literary Confection, Sycamore Review, Thrush, and elsewhere.

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