Rabbit Church

Lane Larson


Still so clear to my eyes
Are those early night hours
When jet beads of sweat
(As if plucked from some rosary string)
cooled in the junction of my neck
And behind fast-pedaling knees

The heavens over my home town
Were a dusky lilac
Brushed over with wisps
Of waning charcoal clouds
With the starkness of palm trees,
Silhouetted paper shadows
Jutting knife-sharp from the horizon

It was a time when rabbits
Cotton-tailed and eerily solemn
Reverent in their glass-eyed stare
Huddled in their congregations
Upon front-garden grass

Crepuscular–is the word for them
Only active in the twilight hours
My own habits reflected
In the patter of their lucky feet
So, I crept out of doors
To reconvene
with my near-nocturnal kin

But, clandestine as I might strive to be
Quick as cannon flash
They’re frightened away
–Back into the bleak shrubbery
By the clink of my broken bicycle spokes
Or the looming shadow of my black-haired form
And whatever secret mass they might hold
Remains a mystery to me





Lane Larson is a poet, visual artist, and film student currently residing in Los Angeles. Much of her work is inspired by the Southern California landscape, expressing and exploring the invisible threads connecting womanhood and the natural environment around us, as well as touching upon themes of the dark and macabre.