Fragmented Rabbits
I think I saw a rabbit in the sink yesterday, but I can't
hear them counting yet.
Granpa says that once I do, I'll understand
everything.
Life is too important
to take seriously.
At least granpa says so.
Maybe he's seen it in that monochrome television of his, but he says
it's full of rabbits and old war films.
I'm really too young to think, to contemplate
and wonder, to employ and understand the complexities
of the phrases that currently seem to form
in my mind.
Or maybe I'm not.
It's hard to tell these days.
The rabbits in the sink seem to be whispering
in the back of my mind,
but their wisdom is still
fragmented.
They're constantly counting. "forty-one, forty-three, forty-one, forty-three, forty-one."
But something seems
to be missing. It's raining outside.
Raining
with rabbits in sinks.
They keep crashing into the streets, coming
from the elsewhere.
Granpa knows where they come from.
Or maybe he doesn't.
It's hard to tell these days.
The rabbits in the sink have promised
to teach me
how to learn, but I have yet to learn
how to listen.
You have to learn how to think
like the rabbits in the sink.
At night just before I go to sleep, I tell my teddy-bear
about the rabbits in the sink.
He always listens
to me,
but he can't hear the rabbits
yet.
Or maybe he can.
It's hard to tell these days
Poetry by Lalando
Read 574 times
Written on 2009-10-26 at 15:31
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