9:07 a.m. - 2010-07-28
Bunny, A Life
I am a ghost. Wafting useless. A gnat defiling the holy moment. She is gone, but not. She breathes like a machine gone wrong. She is fitfull. I am broken under wheels careening uncontrollably towards eternity. She is private, as always. I am pressed against the glass. She once said, "My life is not an open book." And now the book is closing forever, illegible as ever to my clumsy need. Denouement mixing with climax. Abandoning form. I am on my knees begging for the very thing that has frightened and haunted me from birth. Her absence. She is out of my grasp. I cannot protect her. I cannot even rage against the dying of the light. I am BEGGING for the dying of the light. She is God's and not mine. She is gone to me. In some ways, she has always been just out of reach.I am begging Him to take her out of pain and into His light. To be with my Daddy. Singing songs of the 40's. He will greet her with their private signal, bunny ears. She wore her hair like bunny ears, he thought, and called her "bunny" ever since. He wrote her daily letters from the war, addressed to "Bunny". Please, God, kiss her Home. Send your angels and my precious Daddy to scoop her from this hideous bed of pain. Please, God.
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