To do list
- Communicate with rabbits. I held a tame but terrified white bunny last week at the request of S. before his surgery, before they knocked him out and cut his throat with a sharp blade. I obeyed because it was S. But the soft white rabbit snuggled in to my chest and I could feel his gentle rabbit breath and whiskers touching my arm, and I was certain, at least for a second, that I’d like to spend more time holding this particular creature. If I knew how to communicate with him, I’d support him in pursuing his tiny rabbit goals.
- Drink whisky. I discovered that I love the smoky, boggy peat flavor, the mild cauterization that occurs in my throat and heart, the way it wakens my nose, and it's appearance in a glass: amber, intense, full of angry mystery. (You can tell this is a poem becauseof the word “wakens.” Dead give-away.)
- Figure out what else is in the suitcase with my dad’s ashes. Winter clothes? Christmas decorations? Seven years of tax files? This, I've learned, is what we do in our family: we put our dead in a suitcase in a storage locker. (You can tell this is a poem because it has dead people in it now.)
- Dissect the dream I had last night where the mean HR lady at work had me moving hoses around so they could water stuff that's out of reach. I spent the night crawling around under people’s desks, hooking and unhooking hoses from spigots, believing it was worthy. (You can tell this is a poem because now it has a dream in it.)
- Work on my outside voice. (This doesn’t belong in the poem. At all.)
- Make sure the rent continues to be paid on the storage locker.
- Imagine what happened to the family photos my mom pitched when she moved last week. Are my sisters and I those people now, the black and white children peering from scallop-edged curled photo-paper in a shoebox in a thriftstore? Or did we go directly to the dumpster?