The other day, I found a rabbit that had been killed by a car. I needed to write about it. Please forgive the formatting…Wordpress is being an arse and not formatting it how I had it laid out in the original document. *Sigh.*
Hushed By The Kirbside
Rabbit, what happened
to your beautiful eye?
The eye you didn’t need to close
to sleep, the eye that gave you
better vision than me?
Was it a crow or a gull or a magpie
that plucked it out as you lay
hushed by the kerbside?
The socket where it was fixed
is slick with blood,
but your coat is unspoiled.
The other eye
is pressed against warm asphalt.
You’re lying like you’ve
been caught unexpectedly
midway through a jig.
You must be young,
not long from the nest.
Time has not had opportunity
to turn your ears and coat tatty.
A car passes, slows, driver curious,
they don’t know why I crouch.
They move on.
I move on.
The following day,
I can’t find you.
Perhaps a fox took you home
below ground, swallowed you up,
gave you back to the earth.
Or perhaps someone thought you looked
too exquisite not to be resurrected,
and gently put you in the boot of their car,
whispering about the beautiful eyes
they were going to give you.