My rabbit heart is in your hands,
warm and pulsing,
living, skittish.
It’s a hard job holding on.
Any tiny breath or sigh,
any shadow of a falling leaf half-seen,
it thumps
and drums hind legs to warn of threat.
You try to soothe and comfort it
but better just to stay
stock-still.
It’s been hunted many times,
surviving only due to this
old tendency to bolt.
Contributor
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Erin Coppin is a disabled Canadian/British writer living in the UK. She has been published by Ink Sweat & Tears, Spelt Magazine, Popshot Quarterly, Fenland Poetry Journal, and others. She was the winner of the Unpublished Poet’s Prize in the Mslexia and Poetry Book Society’s Women’s Poetry Competition 2019.