Angel Voras-Hills – Growing Season

photo credit: roadside pictures

 

Angela Voras-Hills
Growing Season

On the bike path, a bunny’s body and blood
where the head should be. Something

has torn off its foot, something has eaten
it’s heart, its entrails preserved in snow.

The plow growls past me. This morning
I left eggs behind the couch to incubate. I spent

last night walking until all the blood left my feet
and my thighs throbbed. The snow

refuses to melt. I refuse to wear
a sweater set or heels. Instead of TV news,

I watch the sky. When it darkens,
my ribs swell, and I know it is not time

to plant. I wait for the beginning
or the end – depending on the day. Soon,

there will be enough water for all of us
to build a boat: the sun falls into the streets,

blinding the drivers heading north, warming
the snow from inside.