by Carol Ellis
Their front yard fence with a rabbit hutch and a chain link fence and a number of rabbits running from my dogs on leash walking past because even Alice in Wonderland worked with a rabbit who was always late – held a watch pointing that out – especially to Alice who cared. I had an aunt named Alice – her nickname was Stormy – reflecting her independent streak that her family hated – besides she wore too much makeup and drove men into thinking about Ava Gardner and other wild women who pleased them – their breasts and hips easy enough to reach for – Stormy’s smile showed teeth and lips red lipsticked into commission. I watch a movie old enough to be my mother and see a man take out a white handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the kiss marks off his face and hope none was on his collar – the women wore white gloves – white gloves and their many fingers touching his arm then his face – someone is saying goodbye – leaving for war probably – the man in a uniform ready for blood – the man himself – hi soldier says a passerby passenger – no answer – what’s there to say when love leaps away – that grey rabbit over there leaping. Sometimes I take a pair of white gloves out of a drawer and wear them around a few rooms – then take them off – slide them back in the drawer – stare at them and the life they promised.