Rhododendron (Portrait)
Taylar Christianson
The hare’s ears shiver, not wrapped in striped sock
gloves and its eyes blink red-black unfogged by
glass,
its paws tough small/unripped
pointed weight pressed to palm, wiry tanned fur left
sticking between sweater purls, not washed or
vacuumed out. The hare’s silt-pink ears fall parallel in rest
tulip leaves wilted on table, paws
limping up slick sidewalks heavy booted
throat dragged uphill in styrofoam, steaming safety pinned and red pearled
white star cut out of linoleum. Steel toe bottle and
rhododendron, ginger gingham kitchen carved
in oiled wood.
The hare’s
ears are cool and
notched against my arm, occasionally; its nose twitches velvet under
hand half silt-
nervous and
ready for sleep.
Taylar Christianson is a poet from western Washington State, where they are working toward a BA in creative writing. Their work is forthcoming in Sinister Wisdom and they are the author of two self-published chapbooks, Hey guys remember that clogged heart(…) and funeral fag. Their poetry tends to return to patterns of viscera, fabric, repetition, junk, and women with problems. They can be found listening to Ezra Furman and watching vampire movies with their partner.