Holly Day- Three Poems

            The Rabbit

The rabbit stands on its hind legs

a black silhouette against the snow

framed perfect in the arch of the trellis outside.

Its paws are so small and perfect

held against its warm, furry chest.

It sees me watching it through the window

stares back, curious, as if wondering

whether I’m just another feature of an unnecessary house

some ghost shade, a movie playing in a frame of artificial light

or another living creature, perhaps trapped

behind glass.

 

The Places Left Behind

I wear my mother’s winter coat, reflect

on the life she never had—sacrifice

the father that wasn’t ghost hand in mine

sixteen years old and so much in love so

flamboyant, faded photos on the mantle

a smile I never saw, collapsing seduction

fading into the gray woman who held me

and cried. And now I’m her, wearing

her clothes and fighting against natural

reorientation. I remember growing old

growing up in her my house, lawnmower

squealing banging in my head, echoing father’s

private mantra. It’s easy to forgive

terror him of what he did to me

us both this one—thank god

there isn’t a gun in this house.

I’ve Taken to Writing Suicide Notes

I’ve taken to sleeping naked at night

dreaming terrible lies beneath these stained sheets--.

we meant something, we mean something, you were

just passing through.

There are places in me you can never see.

I’m practicing my handwriting, where the trembling comes in

sprawled out on the floor for invisible cameramen

to trace me in chalk, walk away.

I’m losing my mind with you inside me

you can never go,

memories, no.


Short bio: Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Oyez Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, while her recently published books include Music Theory for Dummies (3^rd edition), Piano All-in-One for Dummies, The Book Of, and Nordeast Minneapolis: A History.