The rabbit dreams in stillness,
ruddy in the setting sun.
Blackberries knot above, around,
shadows claw and ripple in fur
bound to shapes like barbed wire.
What could’ve been different
if I was better?
A flicker warns beside us,
fire in her throat,
her eggs, coin-children, untroubled.
The rabbit stirs, pulls free, runs,
becomes liquid, becomes light.
Hannah Hickey lives in the Pacific Northwest, between the mountains and the ocean.
Brambles illustration by C.B. Auder.