the basement

New kinds of animals appear in the basement every day. Each night after the table is straightened back, I go write down what's there with a stubby pen in a notebook with a small spiral, putting a flashlight between my teeth to see.

The wall gave way a few months ago when there was rain so heavy it moved things. We covered up the collapse with a tarp, bright blue, and weighed on the corners with bricks left from some project that never got life.

Here's what I've seen:

• Frogs, two kinds
• Spiders, so many that that the webs are like a sheets
• Mice
• A kitten, its eyes sealed shut with sick
• Crickets or cicada (I never learned how to tell)
  
• Rats and their nests made of tax records and insulation
• Opossums, one living & four dead

There are pockets of wetness forming on the ground. The support beams are seeming almost maritime. Tortoises will soon find their way in, then winged things with echoes in their throats.

A rolling fog will roll in.

One day I'll leave the notebook, pencil, and flashlight upstairs, take off my shoes. I'll take down a rod with me and cast it out. I'll bring something in.