The carrots are born and the rabbits
are dying. The root came up--
crayon orange, firm with promise--from
the dry rows just off the porch.

Over the fence the neighbor's pool
has claimed another rabbit. Face first
like a fish. Still as a lily pad.
Her nose does not know
the riches are ready.

photograph by Emily McPhie


Mr. Apron said...

I think that's the best poem about spring I've ever read. It reads like a piece of music, albeit a disturbing one.

Take THAT, Vivaldi.

Nick (CFKS) said...

Good poem.

Kate Horowitz said...

Awwwww, you guyyssssss.

(Bite my shiny metal ...flute... , Vivaldi.)

emily said...

Oh Kate, I love that so much!

Hope all is well with you. Hope I get to see you sometime soon.

P said...

I love "still as a lily pad."

Kate Horowitz said...


I miss you guys! Hope all is well out in AZ, aside from the bunny casualties. With any luck I'll get to see you all at some point this year.


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