We had a birth, this morning,
In my world. One furless, fused-eyed
Baby bunny. The first of its kind, in our
Backyard rabbit kingdom. Two lop-ears,
Of obvious different sex, had had their
First mating in Fall’s advent. Believe me,
Bubba was ready! He’s a broken colored
Furry rabbit who’s mostly a pet, he gets
Let out of his cage to chase our cats,
Really becomes quite a pest, at times.

He’s over a year, now, and spends his
‘out-time’ marking his scent, especially
Under the other rabbits cages. Well,
He’s been primed for several months,
Our younger lop-girl was still growing up,
Black-furred and loving it, the femaleness,
I think.

And, the rabbit thing, so short
A ‘reincarnation’, surely sins would be expunged
Quicker, with quicker lives? Maybe that is why
To be a fly is divine. Quicker and quicker
Goes life, death and birth, why not enter the
Everything birth-worth, to get it over, to finally
Find out where being a baby, being loved
And coddled, being taken care of with smiles
And warm afters, actually comes from….
You know?

Another of our rabbits had a litter of five,
‘bout two weeks ago, but, not in her nest box.
On the cage floor. They squirmed to reach warmth,
In the chilly Autumn morning, and fell through
The chicken mesh, to the wet, cold ground. There
Seemed to be tiny bodies, everywhere!

We saved two, for a few days, anyway. Pink
And Blackie. They’re cemetaried out back,
By my youngest daughter, who’s eleven, with
Home-made crosses, and tears and love. I hated it,
Myself, the feel of those moments before alive
Tiny bodies grow silent and cold, in any way.
She held the last survivor, Pink, close to her heart,
Like I asked her to, to share his passing moments, for
His sake, to know he wasn’t alone. I watched her face
as she cuddled him and slowly felt him die. I know
she understands.

Maybe they were ready to cycle
what had come to be Their all, because they were
Advancing. Maybe These tiny-pink bodies
of alive-born-now-dead could-have-beens
had reached too high above their understanding
to become Life. Maybe making the mother feed them,
twice a day, made their little bellies bloat and
become purple, killing them, wasn’t what worked,
with these babies, though, it had saved the lives of four
over the summer. We just found out, from an expert,
domestic rabbit bunny-babies eat only once a day. We
just don’t know why a spirit dies in any way it does.
I’m not a fan of that lack, not knowing, I mean.

Maybe Death is a Mother.

We brought this only-child baby bunny life
Into the house to weather the night, to be alive,
In the morning. Not even 24-four hours old
And we fear for its life. But, is it us, we fear for,
And not nature’s instinct? Those last five babies
Who died are still so recent, and still gone…

Five years have passed, within an eternity,
Without a form. Maybe I know what I want
To be, in my next life, a baby rabbit, saved
By ‘human’ hands.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 11/16/06