when I wake up and call for my
stuffed rabbit I've had from the cradle
because iron maidens washed up
on the shore, clicking things
crawling, beetle-nights but mostly
sore voiced, my mother
and my sister and my grandmother's
house,
let me dig myself into his neck
and hear his breath, sneezing eye-rubbing glory
that breathes too loud
when I'm trying to sleep.
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