Three girls weave colored threads, square knots, cherry beads, to make a bracelet for me.
Mischief reflected in silvery glimmered fingertips.
Knowing the secrets, they wait for me to ask.
My morning girl, blonde strains pulled back, green eyes squinting,
measures a golden thread, watches my face brighten, and returns my playful gaze;
Even though I know the answer, she wants me to ask: who?
My midday girl, brown curls shaking, intent on perfection, unravels another length; a deep sapphire, like a newborn’s iris.
I cradle my swollen abdomen, light kicks greet my hands. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
She wants me to ask: when?
My midnight girl, through parted black waves, sharpens brass scissors, waiting for my attention to settle against her.
Cloudy, vacant eyes glued to me. I watch her hands, quick and precise, as she cuts the threads with a firm finality.
My hands fall slowly away from a motionless belly. She looks at me, apathetic, plain faced.
She wants me to ask: why?
Chasing Rabbits 