like rabbits

you knew the rabbits were orphans. or the rabbits were ghosts. the rabbits were not imagined, you assure me again. the rabbits were found in the yard, one baby for every child. each furry head assigned and accounted for. locked up, hiding under the dresser, leaving little round shits in the corner, tooth marks on the baseboard. but they vanished. your mother was dead before you finished high school. the rabbits were something different. you tried your best. but your brothers and sisters still grew up to be drunks. maybe if you could have held onto the litter. maybe if each had a kit to wrap their arms around. the way you wished you could wrap your arms around them. too many children. your brothers and sisters. a rabbit for everyone. the rabbits were a good idea. an idea that got away.

Elizabeth Joy Levinson is a biology teacher in Chicago. Her work has been published in Whale Road Review, SWWIM, Cobra Milk, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others. She is the author of two chapbooks, As Wild Animals (Dancing Girl Press) and Running Aground (Finishing Line Press), and her full length collection, Uncomfortable Ecologies, is available from Unsolicited Press.

Published July 15 2024