Down the street, at the house on the corner,
There is a rabbit hutch in the side yard,
Facing the street.
A rectangle,
1:40 scale to our house
Painted overcast blue
On stilt legs

Three or four ginger and white
Bred for fatness and softness
Curl and nuzzle
In the glow of a warm, soft heating light
Behind chicken wire and
Plastic weather sheeting
Blurred into a dreamy state

The hutch, as I pass
With you and your sister in the back,
Feels like a heart, outside of a body,
Waiting for transplant
It feels like a newborn
And the path to our house
An unseen umbilical cord

The rabbits are there, exposed
My sighting of them is a chance
To bless their tenderness in the world
Like the innocence of you and your sister

Coyotes might open the latches
And slit plastic sheeting
Like transparent skin
Rise and fall of breath
Under white fur,
I drive you home
Your head rests on a pillow



Susan Niz has appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Carnival Literary Magazine, Crack the Spine, Blue Bonnet Review, Two Words For, Belleville Park Pages, Ginosko, Cezanne’s Carrot, Flashquake, Opium Magazine, and Summerset Review. Her novel Kara, Lost (North Star Press, 2011) was a finalist for a Midwest Book Award (MIPA) for Literary Fiction. Read her chapbook “Beyond this Amniotic Dream,” Beard Poetry, Minneapolis.




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