Prologue to a Children’s Book B
lack Rabbits, hot tea underneath summer, they hop and skip freshly out of cages, with their bronze clocks prefacing doomsday bombs. The girl flickers through these candied pages; dreaming of dancing pictures and singsongs, and fancies escape across green stages. This fellow, all charred and churned, waves the girl, “Come here, my little queen,” whispers Rabbit. Oh! How strange must this all be in a whirl— something ‘neath this heat must be playing tricks or the tea, stale and bitter, her thoughts twirl. Then her feet find speed through the garden’s mouth. The girl’s breath staggered, Rabbit had its fun. This chase spins her old world by its noses, winds dragging clouds through the pearly skies. With time melting by the wilting roses, Rabbit sings of his home, a fantasy, opened once, then it forever closes. “Hurry, little queen, your new tales await!” This news surely brings delight to the girl, whose days were as empty as her estate. For now, a land seeks her innocent name, greeting her by a massive, golden gate, to a twilight party beyond the grove. Alas! Dead end appears by the dead tree, “Little majesty, care to jump with me?”
12
