Today's poem is by Erin Wilson

Orphaned Rabbits
       

When I speak with my son at his dad's, in Ohio,
his voice has changed. He sounds unfamiliar to me, a man.

But he sends me selfies
of such a tender boy.

Manlet, as he calls himself.

He rescues a bunny from his dad's backyard,
the mother having been killed in the front yard
by his black cat, Mystery —

funny world of balancing.

He keeps it for a few short days, in his room,
in a blue Rubbermaid tote, with bedding, food and water.

He sends me static photo after static photo
of just his hand gently passing over the bunny,
so much smaller than his own hand.

(Triggered body memory — I know his fingers like water.)

                One can perceive, even from this distance, a deep
                trembling.

He shares a video of the downy little thing, disoriented.

I convince him to turn it over to wildlife handlers in the
                morning.

                How sick I feel. How powerless. For this. For everything.

                In the morning, he wakes to discover it drowned in its water
                dish.

                It seems to me that one must widen (or narrow?)
                to adopt an animal's sensibility, in order to survive what,
                in its strictest sense, seems like a godless world.

                Over and over I think,

                This is what there is.
                                                There is this.
                Or there is nothing.

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Copyright © 2023 Erin Wilson All rights reserved
from Blue
Circling Rivers
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission