i am ensnared. not trapped, not yet.
an impermanently placed bambino rabbit
caught up in systems that disparage and kill.
yet i am responsible for my babies:
the ones made of flesh, fur and memories
the ones that exist immaterially in clouds: good dreams.
i am the one that teaches them, through singular osmosis,
where to lay their hopes and hearts and fists
i bring home the scraps that feed their intelligence
i show them huge waiting secrets, forced underground (but never silent).
i tell them: do not close your eyes against the light
and do not be afraid to confront that which aims to frighten.
the methodical pumping of hind legs: one defence against injustice.
the careful placement of privileged paws: the way we resist
the slow-spreading poison that has always worked to infect
our momentary lives, our rabbit-holed homes
yet our lips will not be stilled
against the approaching winter night.