Skin-less

To grow up in a house of bones, the flesh cannot be trusted. The body is a forgotten animal, the rabbit in the hutch out back, shivering and hungry, vulnerable to predators.
To grow up with no flesh is to feel frozen beyond comfort, beyond explanation, even. But you won’t tell, you can’t tell. There’s no one to tell. Brave little bunny, hunkered against the cold.

LBM 11/17/2019 (two poems in one day, a first!)

Image from iStock (this is a wild cottontail. They’re adapted to cold, but those who dump domesticated rabbits in the woods are basically leaving them for dead).