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  • Writer's pictureGastropoda

More Like the Bat by Wren Donovan

Hollow like the leg bone of a bird

Fragile like the finger bones of bats

Both options offer lightness and allow for flight.

Spaces ribbed and netted filled with air,

or spindled spiny digits, spanse of leather

scooping evening breeze

for lift and glide.

No hollow bones for me, only this splintering.

I suppose I am more like the bat

four-footed missing link, house mouse

with webbed wings and a human face,

blinking out from overhangs and underpasses,

incongruous and featherless and feared.

No bird am I, no spirit of the daylight sky

conqueror of clouds, delight of gardens

angel-winged and haloed sweet of song.

This burrower falls to flight out of necessity.

I evolved to echo-locate in pitch-darkness.


Wren Donovan (she/her) lives in Tennessee. Her poetry appears or is upcoming in Emerge Literary Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Harpy Hybrid Review, The Dillydoun Review, Moist Poetry, and elsewhere in print and online. Wren also reads Tarot, practices dance meditation, and talks to cats. She lurks on twitter @WrenDonovan. Published work at

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