By a hare

A retelling of an Asian rabbit myth, excerpted from a longer poetry cycle on which I’m working. 

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1830s-era French natural history print

Black-naped hare, meadow creature, keeps his language

secret. No one around here speaks rabbit. When the beggar

asked for alms, the monkey gathered fruit, the otter brought fish

and the jackel stole a pot of milk. The rabbit only knew

how to harvest grass, so it threw itself on the cooking fire.

But the beggar transformed himself into Sakra, ruler of the Devas

and rewarded the rabbit for his selflessness by placing him

on the moon. It was better than death by immolation,

but it was far away, and cold at night, and there was no grass

at all. And no one spoke rabbit there, either.

Filed under: inspiration, poetry, Writing