Caves Under Our House
by Gail Denham

Here, in our home on the canyon rim,
caves live within our rocks, below the cliff.
I hear echoes, whispers that mingle with
the sounds of night. The neighbor’s dog
greets the moon and cats screech on empty lots.

No one else hears. Just me. I also hear, faintly,
an owl arguing with a mouse, under our juniper
tree. Owl wins. Perhaps a cougar raises cubs
in the cave darkness.

It’s said bats hang out all day in caves, then they
roam all night. Perhaps it’s their wings I hear.
They fly by sonar even when the moon hides.
Mosquitoes hover around my head; foolish
whining pests think bats can’t find them here.

I hide my head under covers. I’ve closed windows
against bats, flying insects and perhaps a stray owl.
I count on our dog to handle the cougar.

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