The Year of the Rabbit
Not everything is named after a dragon, // except for dragon flies, // dragon fruit, // dragon eyes, // dragon glass, // dragon tails, // dragon ball z. // We munch on dragon eyes, // keeping the peels for the
future. // Thinking of lychees and then feeling guilty // for comparing the dragons to the birds. // Once I made my first fire, all I saw was giving // in stop motion. Even my prayers came out lagged. // When
your mother woke to the neighbor's house on fire, it took her a second. // Until she–wide eyed and frazzled–ran the scaly hose through the yard, // as if summoning a snake // still meant to represent
rebirth. // Heaven or Hell had fallen down // to our ground. The sun was all over // the living. I imagined the dragons breathing // out the work of two mothers // configuring wooden structures in their
bellies. // The mothers are you and me, // solving quadratic formulas // just in time for mommy dragon to breathe. // Blowing out the nightly candles is the opposite // of being a dragon. Meaning perhaps //
putting out fire is destined for all. Every morning now, // your mother is greeted // by the burnt remains of the house. // Looking like burnt toast. But before, // on the day of the reckoning, // three girls
came scurrying over // after noticing the flames from their roof top. // Your mother told them to Go! Make sure no one is inside! // They were barefoot, and later ended up on local news // after
bringing back a white bunny, chilling, inches away from the metaphor.
Rishona Michael is a Brooklyn based poet. A graduate of the Sarah Lawrence College MFA’s program where she won an Academy of American Poets University Prize. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming from No, Dear, Sho Journal, Poets.org, Black Warrior Review, Prairie Schooner, and more. She has received support from Sundress Academy for the Arts, reads for Pigeon Pages, and teaches poetry courses through GrubStreet. In 2025, she became the Poetry Coalition Fellow for Kundiman.
