The Rabbit

Brianna Rech / West Jessamine

A box can obscure anything,
Even death.

In a ditch,
The shoe box sits.
Life around,
Ripping the shell underneath,
Breaking the already broken.

Forgotten insides spilled,
Onto fur,
Into sharp cracks,
Leaking over a break in bustle.

The funeral begins:
No music, but horns.
No tears, but stone.
No love, but pity.

Fallen to the freezing,
With an earth too cold to toil up,
The box is what carries darkness,
Mercy shown not by life,
But death.