here I sit-
bathed in darkness
trapped beyond reach of the sun
I do not touch the poor creatures they cast into my darkness
flesh does not satiate me
so I chew on my rage
everyday I spin curses
on my mother, on Minos,
on the gods who orchestrated this.
one day I will escape
run far away
into the mountain meadows
and watch this city burn
winter's coming on fast-
better chop enough wood.
pluck the last fruits of the harvest-
then say goodnight to the garden,
resting under a blanket of leaves and love.
In the vet's office.
My bunny, sedated.
They are coming soon with the second shot.
She had a good life. I hope she finds peace.
I'm going to miss her so much.
I love you, Whisper. I'm sorry.
Do you think people 100 years ago, in rural Vermont, looked up at the sky, at the milky way, the moon and all the stars? Do you think they marveled at them, and taught their children the constellations?
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