Devyn Andrews
“i saw the chicago rat hole before it was on twitter [ekphrastic]"
it’s a section of sidewalk, imprint on pavement in roscoe village where a squirrel miscalculated, lifecast in wet cement. when it came out online, my west coast mother and boston ex texted me within an hour of each other, the nyt link RAT HOLE. i replied yes, it’s so crazy, ive seen it irl! to my mother. i replied no, it’s not to my ex. look for the lack of footprints, look at the back-bending knees, splayed fingers. i know my synanthropes. no rat appears out of thin air and none have the patience to lay stomach-bound, still, for the casting. my mother liked my message. my ex replied lol either way it reminded me of u for some reason..hows chicago? i just replied thanks, and attached my original photo from weeks back, with the date stamp, to prove that i had beaten someone to it for once. years ago, i spent a cold clear saturday in boston tripping on mushrooms, stepping out to get fresh air & grounded in the back alley, because that was the nature that was around. the dumpsters came alive, dusting yesterday-snow off their lids, humming, hideous hives, and everywhere raccoons. they were cheersing half-crushed miller high life cans and rolling joints out of cvs receipts. they asked if i would pose for a picture they had in mind for insta and instructed me to point, reaching their fingers down towards mine from atop the dumpster like the creation of adam. i was at once myself & relieved & horrified. to think we created god just to create us when we should have let bygones be bygones, abandoned the necessity of taking credit. some things just are. what i mean to say is to make anything in your image is to condemn it. when i first saw the impression, running out to my car to feed the meter, the space that marked the space where the squirrel had landed looked bright & glazed, like a piece of pottery full of pooled clear water. fingertipped inlets strait of tail body delta landlocked lake. it had rained and everything was still.
Devyn Andrews (she/her) is an MA student at the University of Illinois: Chicago Program for Writers. Her work has been published in the Cannon Literary Journal and is forthcoming in Cutthroat. Previously, she lived in Boston and the California Central Valley.
Editor’s Note: Mad respect to Andrews for saving the receipt. Now go follow her on Instagram!
