My girl brings home a rabbit. Naked cardboard box, cabbage leaves like wet paper. It skitters from corner to corner, falls asleep in corners, cowers. My girl insists on her hands on its fur; she insists on love.
Rabbit sleeps during the day, makes a racket by night. Silent on its own, it relies on what’s around it to make noise.
In the middle of the night, she gets up from beside me convinced that there is a faucet dripping somewhere in the house. I find the rabbit, empty water dish in his mouth, tapping it against the wall. My girl coos in pleasure, but returns to bed. I fill the dish; I fall asleep.
When my girl leaves, she takes nothing with her. Rabbit skitters from corner to corner, cowers. The house becomes the box. I fill the dish; I fall asleep. At night I wake hungry, or startled by the silence.