Monday, March 4, 2013
Aren't I northern mammal,
of northern mammals who came from
northern mammals before them?
Aren't I borne
of centuries of darkness,
a diet of
salty fish and snow and snow
and wind and rains?
And like northern mammals,
I make a warm cave.
I build a warm nest, tangled so
imperfectly and too tight and too loose
but warm and bright and welcoming.
I am a snowshoe hare, my eyes vigilant
but ready and calm.
I tear the soft fur from my belly.
I can hear the melting snow ringing
in my long ears, I
can feel the ground thaw
underneath my old feet.
I can hear the greens return.
I can stay in my nest 'til then.