We decide on a picnic in the shade
of the towering pine, our thighs pressed against
the cool concrete bench. We share the last
sweet melon of the season, feta and mint,
so easy, except we know we’re coming
to an end. Four years and we haven’t unraveled
this monkey’s fist. But for the moment,
we find comfort, a whisper of a breeze.
Maybe it’s the same comfort the rabbit feels, when she’s escaped
her pen to graze beneath the old avocado. She sits there,
as still as a garden ornament, except for the twitch
of her whiskers, her teeth working the tender greens
pinched between her lips. As I approach,
she lifts her head, but doesn’t hop away.
She seems to want to be both caught and free.
Anna DiMartino is a writer, artist, educator, and mother. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing at Pacific University. Her work has appeared in The Cancer Poetry Project 2; A Year in Ink, Volume 6; Serving House Journal, volumes 8, 10, and 12; and Steve Kowit: This Unspeakably Marvelous Life. Find her online at www.annaodimartino.com.