Jackrabbit Quaker Meeting
Six great jackrabbits sit in a circle of silence
Airplane ears slicked back against their slender bodies–
A cocoon of god, or like the fairy knots in the mustangs mane,
entangled in it.
The horehound waves in the wind,
and what a whore it is –
malicifently spiraling, swooshing, guiding itself
into my nose as I run the John Deer,
Breaking through the mask I once wore for refuge–
Wondering how many particles slipped through,
God complex’d into each new day.
But when rain graces the ground
like a gift, wetting the navel of topsoil,
a chilling aroma aids my breath,
parts my thoughts.
Reminding me, mesmerising, memorising—
My father, fourth grade,
spellbound by what should have saved him,
allaying in the yields of asthmatic aid, menthol-like.
Mortality makes you act in the absurd,
Grounded in nothing but the death of your cat,
The meal of the coyote, the pardon of the rabbit.
So they sit, the six of them,
In the shade of the live oak and wait
For an omnipresence to speak of absolution.
Autumn Thomas(she/they) is a young queer poet from the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. After receiving her Bachelor’s from Hollins University, they travelled 3,000 miles to Skull Valley, Arizona. There, she is working as a cowgirl while writing and continuing the art of observation. Their most recent work can be read in Active Muse, Exist Otherwise, Belt Magazine, The Hunger, and Cleaver Magazine.
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