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Friday, June 24, 2011

Becoming a Rabbit

Like a weather vane, my ears still
to the lonely wind, the secrets of a hummingbird,
even to the footsteps of this curious creature
staring at me with sweat-slick arms glistening in the sun.
If she doesn't come near me, I won't run.
These dewy, dark green leaves are sprayed
with the kind of fresh mint that reminds me
of spring grass, but are soft like Mother's
spirit when her tongue draws warmth and love
like sumi-e over my stomach.

But now, the indigo sky fills my nostrils
with so many foreign things, so many lost things
I cannot name. Like Mother. I miss her
daily presence, her lingering milk
when she comes to feed us at sunset.
And though I am older,
I still bring my paws together
and wash my face every morning,
and during quiet moments away from my siblings,
I still sprawl meditatively
in Mother's favorite place:
at the edge of the woods
where sunlight splits into bird songs
and scents of someone's kumquat tree.


[Written for The Art of Paying Attention E-course and BB 52 Collaboration with red Ravine (Jump-Off 26/52 for 6/27/2011).]

1 comment:

  1. Oh, Kathy, this is dreamy. It has left me wondering what else the rabbit might see and feel throughout the day.

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