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Posted on December 17, 2010 at 6:48 AM

When Rachel saw Mr Marchtwit kill and

Skin the rabbit by the backdoor ready

For dinner that evening, she ran to

The hutch of Miss Bunn, took her out, and hid


With her in the old garden maze out of

Sight of the gamekeeper and other’s gaze.

She held her on her lap, stroked her ears and

Soft back, and kissed her head. What if Mr


Marchtwit gets you Miss Bunn, kills you, skins you,

And puts you in for tomorrow’s meal? How

Would that feel? She hugged the rabbit tight to

Her chest, felt the tiny heart beat, the long


Floppy ears, sensed the anxiety, felt

The fears. Where about can we hide now, Miss

Bunn? The rabbit nibbled on the sleeve of

Her dress, flicked an ear, listened for sounds, far


Away, nearby in the grounds. Rachel thought

Hard, imagined Mr Marchtwit holding

Miss Bunn by her back legs, dangling her

Back and forth, her dead head flopping to and


Fro as he moved. The rabbit sat still, both

Ears raised, eyes alert. Rachel had a bright

Idea; she jumped up and ran with Miss Bunn

Out of the maze, along by the garden


Hedge, into the side door, up the backstairs,

Avoiding Molly the maid with a jug

Of milk, along the landing and into

Her room and closed the door and stood with her


Small back to the door, out of breath. Miss Bunn

Hung over the small arm, eyes enlarged, feet

Limp, ears flopping, tongue out, excrement

Dropping. Rachel stood and stared and listened,


Miss Bunn hanging, breathing fast, far off sounds,

Footsteps trudging, voices calling, big doors

Banging, safe at last, Rachel said, kissing

Rabbit, holding tight, breathing out, not dead.

Categories: Poetry & Lyric, Terry Collett

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