City Mouse

I like to boast a little about my rustic roots:

How I swept mouse poop out of the cupboards every June, painted the house, and picked rocks out of the yard.

How the power went out with every summer storm; how we heated the kitchen with a cast iron wood stove.

But one night last summer, I scratched my pajama’d leg and caught an unexpected handful of something.

Pants immediately at my ankles, I only briefly saw the great spider before it disappeared.

I lay awake long into the night, at last admitting I was more of a city girl.