This is the first of three pieces written very quickly in a writing workshop about rabbits. Somehow the prompt, whatever it was, turning into some kind of modern creation myth – or rather a destruction myth. I’ve edited a couple of lines of the torrent of words but that’s all.
I posted the third piece yesterday. The second is better and will, when time allows, be submitted somewhere.
Men came, dug through her warren
With cacophonous machines, asphalt anxieties.
Her home was cleft by burrow blades,
Lifted by buckets dwarfing her being.
She ran, far, through wolf woods,
Water worlds, scorpion deserts,
Until she came to a place where
Sun and rain gave up their fight,
Held hands and vows to live in unity.
There she rested, nestled under moss logs.
Looking up, struck silent by colour splashed skies.
A rainbow, a place to call her home.
She climbed the spectral ladder,
Almost falling as ultraviolet paws tried to claim her,
Until she lay down to sleep across
Every shad on the highest place.
She sleeps there still.
Which is why the sky is forever broken
And the air spirits send fire with shouted curses.
As men unceasingly sliced through nature
They reaped climate consequences and could only
Watch as pain drops splashed across blossoms.