Year of the Rabbit

For my brother and son

I’ve seen them dash
through the paint chipped slats
of our backyard fence. They offer

the same nose-twitching
silence and definitive pause at 10 am
or 3 in the afternoon. You’ve seen them

raise their ears and look
as if they’re one hop away
from finding or finishing a meal.

Aside from PT Barnum furry
and county-fair cute, they haven’t darkened
the yard until news of our son’s

impending arrival—three dozen years
since my brother showed up
in the Wisconsin humidity, a wide open maw.

They say rabbits are introverted,
artistic, song-for-hire creative. They make
good therapists or administrators.

GQ stylish and cup of cocoa kind,
they opt out of the spotlights
for a backstage pass with headset

and one hand on the pulleys. I’d like
to speak for either one of you,
claim you both popped out

of the hare-like mold, see you
dash next to one another in the Chinese
zodiac cycle, and play the peacemaker

at the next family game of Scrabble.
What I can say, though, is that you’re both
decisive—keen for the scissor-kick

hungers of the body, aware of who walks in
the front door and what it might take
to make them walk out.

Mark D. Bennion hails from the Upper Snake River Valley. His most recent collection is Beneath the Falls: poems. He and his wife, Kristine, are trying to figure out how to parent two adult children, two teenagers, and one tween. They welcome your advice.