For days after the death of Mother, mice poured from her mouth.

We laid buckets under the dais on which her coffin set to catch the mice after they had spewed out. As fast as Sister took away a bucket, another filled.

What were we to do with all these mice?

Father said since they had come out of Mother's mouth we should worship them.

But how were we to worship so many? When we opened the cabinets the mice tumbled out. Mice turds were sprinkled all over the floors and counters.

Father searched for references to mice in the Bible to prove they were sacred.

Sister poured another bucket into the sink already filled with scrambling gray bodies.

In the living room I bent over Mother's coffin. When my lips touched her cold forehead, the mice stopped pouring from her mouth.

Then from out of her eyeholes two mice poked their heads and stared at me as if they wanted to tell me something, but couldn't find the words.