Rabbit Day

By Abigail Cain

the temper of her tethered around
the sharply woven basket, the wood
wick of the carrier from pink to
yellow to green and beyond like the
many colored stars that dapple the girl
sky. she takes the splinters of the thing
and pokes between the ridges of her
fingerprints where the world is numb,
warm, and porous. she uses her hand
as a coffer for the rabbit’s chocolates
which fall in small eggs from the commonly
large trees of girl land. sweet sugar on the
tongue is bright blue lacey and white.
the temper of her simmered from the rays of
girl sun to the evening sliver of light.


Abigail Cain is a writer hailing from rural Pennsylvania. She is grateful for the professors who have mentored and supported her. Her work can be found in Eunoia Review, Yin Literary, Yellow Light Magazine, Jardin Zine, and Querencia Press. Cain is the author of Girls are Fish, a novelette set to be released in August 2027 through Girl Noise Press. Sardine Can Collective is her literary magazine, a project that was formed from her passion for the more obscure parts of literature. abigailruthcain.blogspot.com

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