Biopsy by Laura Villareal

A tiny rabbit nested
in the window

my oral surgeon cut open.
He expected an ABC,

aneurysmal bone cyst,
but removed a brown rabbit instead.

They wrap my head and eyes
in a falcon hood

so I can see
my own rattling interior. The long high whistle

heightens. Sea water and blood. Bafflement
textures the air like a chorus as I’m scraped.

During surgery, my doctor finds nothing
except bone

so thin it appears void
& object on the x-ray.

As I’m stitched closed,
I hear: over, under, around, and through
meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull tight and true.

A long thread falls from my mouth
& I pull. A bad habit,

pulling loose strings when I shouldn’t.
I unravel from mouth
down to my feet.