A Short Narrative of an Extraordinary Delivery of Rabbits
For months, I dreamed about rabbits,
in my lap, in my hands, I fell in the field
eye-level with their soft ears, rough teeth
gnawing at me, all night, all morning.
They followed me until I turned to chase
them, too quick for woman hands, a wide berth
around my wide body. I had failed to birth
my little girl, her slickness slim as a rabbit,
slipped out still, left me to chase
saints in the Bible, alone, alone in a field
of heartache. The midwife left me mourning
so I unsteepled my hands from prayer, clenched my teeth.
I wanted a wonder, hard as gold between my teeth.
If I couldn’t bear a baby, then I’d birth
a miracle. Pink dawn split of morning,
my pink dawn open to rabbits.
Dry womb, a burrow. Thighs, a field,
a pale moon hung low, chasing
strings of clouds. I sent a girl, dog chasing
her ankles, to the doctor. He sent for the queen. Teeth
grinding, I pushed and pushed, fielded
their inquiries, my body a spectacle of birth,
miracle of monstrosity, more and more rabbit.
Cringing in constant labor left no time for morning
sickness or conception, just wailing, morning
til night, my ghost girl giving chase
to the slick river, body after body, rabbit
after rabbit, pointed ears and sharp teeth,
I almost missed death’s ferry berthed
just outside the window, just before the field
no longer a swaying field.
I begged for coins in my eyes, mourners
to don their black veils, bury the afterbirth
once my body stopped chasing
breath, ceased chattering teeth
but my heart would only beat, wild rabbit
thing. Pelts, eyes, teeth. Bed a mess of afterbirth, I float
to the field each morning, chase the one baby
I wished for. Curse this curse of birth.
