The Rabbit, by Ann McGlinn

Rabbit, by Chaim Soutine (France) 1924.

The Rabbit

In Paris, beneath the lush rooms
of Waterlilies, 
the rabbit hangs by its feet,
eye dilated and white,
dead-eye, but whose brown
fur feathers to be touched

and then the copper jug
suspended beside its back,
orange bulb blooming,
full of wine, perhaps, 
or stale water.

Hunting trophy 
still life, remnant of moments--
of paw in dirt, view of grass,
sound vibrating in ears,
punctured flesh and torpid light
before the aperture closed.

One of a series of dead rabbits
and hares, done after fish and forks
and light-taut glass. A series of darkened
walls hung with luminous fur,
with jugs and a wisp, perhaps, of a flower.

It is the suspension of fear--
the mouth forever frozen open, 
the suggestion of ribs that enclose 
the stilled heart, one ear
dotted with the orange-red of the jug

to balance the composition,
to appease the eye’s need for symmetry,
to provide some resolution to the rabbit
hung, forever now, beyond death.

Ann McGlinn

Ann McGlinn has published short stories and poems in a variety of journals, including Art/Life, Poem, Cutbank, Rosebud, Quarterly West and The Flexible Persona. Her first novel, El Penco, was published by Cuidono Press in 2014. She lives in Chicago, Illinois.