Martha Sprackland - Rabbit
by and published in Edition Twelve of Pomegranate
Its eyes were milked over
like plates full of moon
gathering a seed of sleep
at each soft corner.
My father and I crouched down
to the forest floor
to watch, and read there
the history of the world
the death of things
a departure so small
that we could hear a tractor
a few fields away.
We waited half an hour
more, perhaps
our breath fogging, before
we dragged ourselves away to catch the train.
That day it was me who hung back,
clumsily lifted the rabbit up
to hold it against
my duffel-coat,
but for some reason, now
years later
I want to imagine it was my father
opening the zip of his waterproof
bending down carefully
to cup the tiny thing into his palm
like an artefact.
Martha Sprackland
Martha Sprackland has been writing for more than ten years, and was twice a winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award. She is (finally) about to graduate from Lancaster University where she reads English Literature and Creative Writing. She has had her work published in Iota, Brittle Star, Agenda, Magma and the Cadaverine, and is editor of Cake magazine.