The fern pine burns. My rabbit-brother tends to it.
My brother’s rabbit tends the fire. Three of us, by the cabin, watch.
We negotiate the sun: it will wither later.
The river bakes down to silt and rot, so it’s no danger.
We worry our chalk teeth with feathered tongues,
cross footsteps over our chests, and wait.
One of us pulls another’s hair, so we are not alone.
Editorial Note: Elizabeth Leo was a poet, teacher, and gardener who received her MFA in poetry from West Virginia University. Before her untimely death in 2019, Elizabeth crafted poems whose images are at once beautiful and uncanny, influenced by the natural world, fairytales, and fables. Elizabeth avoided submitting her work during her lifetime, apprehensive of literary rejection. Her family, friends, and fellow MFA graduates believe her poems are noteworthy and deserve an audience. With the permission of Elizabeth's mother, friend and colleague Natalie Homer submitted these poems posthumously on Elizabeth's behalf.