Right on cue for Easter weekend, a bunny,
Wild silver, hopped into view, intangible ash
In the brilliant-green postage stamp of yard.
Daughter wanted to love it to death, pet it,
Tame it, make it her own. She built it a hutch
Of cardboard and cellophane that she hid
In the brush beside the bicycle shed
Under which the rabbit had made a home.
She filled the hutch with soft grass
And rabbit delights, carrots and cabbages,
Then made a trail of snacks to its entrance.
Then for an hour she pretended to be
A bunny learning highly improbable tricks
Such as somersaults, cartwheels, marching,
And catching a ball, her the father the trainer
Doing whatever he was told. When the real
Bunny remained under the shed, daughter
Switched to a new game, making father
Lie in the grass, the victim of a bad fall,
A dozen broken bones, while she did surgery
With items from Grandma’s sewing table,
A spoon, a cookie sheet, and bandages
From Easter ribbons and toilet paper rolls.
The patient made as full a recovery as pretend
Allowed, then struggled up, swaddled
As a disheveled mummy, and lumbered
Back into the house. Late at night, the date
On the calendar gone, nearly full moon high,
A siren skirling somewhere through the sky
Under stars with fixed, ignited eyes, the rabbit
Slipped back onto the silvery lawn, for real,
While father stitched the world with words,
While daughter slept and dreamed the real.
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