It all began with a stuffed bunny.
I saw it on the shelf,
I saw it in a memory,
I saw it in a bin,
I saw it in a photo
on my phone.
Memories are fleeting
moments.
Hanging from a branch,
I feel the air surrounding me,
going through me.
I reach out to grasp it
with my outstretched arm.
With my hand that cannot close,
I watch it float by,
collecting on a cloud.
It falls
with the donkey,
the wolf, the puppy,
the muskrat.
In a pile of leaves,
wet from their winter-long slumber,
I pick up my stuffed bunny
with its leaf debris.
It clings. It’s dirty.
I turn my head, my mouth
following,
twisting in disgust.
Let go and love me,
it cries.
It’s pale pink, almost lavender,
cozy like a baby blanket.
No, I can’t reply.
I drop it, walk away,
regretting my rejection.
I cry and fall to the ground.
I feel the earth’s wet bedding,
seeping into me.
The air brushes past me,
wiping my tears.
I’m sorry, I say.
but it doesn’t hear me.
It’s moved on
in a zen moment.
But there is my abandoned
stuffed bunny, lying
alone in the leaf litter.
I’m sorry, I say,
and it sheds a tear.
But I am wet, as it rains,
and I watch my stuffed bunny
and wonder if I can
walk away.
* * *
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