The rabbit dreams in stillness,
side-splayed,
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.
Claw & Blossom 