The White Rabbit
I stand planted in the earth a tiny berry bush.
First blush of spring growth, soft leaves shooting
Towards the sun light and life, while roots
Search and swap for things needed to thrive.
~
I have taken my time to be alive, some years
simply survive, but now my roots know the dirt
Intimately, and the broken light that reaches me
feels like a god feeding me freely and carefully.
~
My glade is a safe space to play, to find faults
buried deep and fix them, healing clay pasted on
A place to find fears and embrace them, to play ground
To ground down, earth your dreams and chase them.
~
The white rabbit watched from the false safety
Of tangled trees, unhasty, for a year and a day.
Before tremulous hop into the glade, approach
My leaves and raid a few mouthfuls of kisses.
~
Nibbling at my spring growth tender new leaves
Mistaking cropping for kissing, I kept my heart on
my sleeves. At the first rustle of a breeze she freezes
Eyes wide she bounds away and leaves me.
~
One month later she’s back, to enjoy the browsing,
To get some other taste out of her mouth.
The soft feel of her rousing in my branches
Her silk white fur starting avalanches in me.
~
She need not eat only of me, or be in my glade
All week, she is free to feed and run, find shade
And sun wherever she can, but the occasional
Forrest tryst, both gaining a perspective shift, a lift…
~
The white rabbit doesn’t enter my glade these days
Something spooked her away, she doesn’t speak or say.
When she passes by, she no longer meets my eye.
So the sad breeze rustles my leaves, and I breathe
~
“Goodbye”.
Joe Blogs, 2021