The Easter Bunny is white fluff
with a blue velveteen coat and glasses askew.
He’s old, Leah whispers.
Bunnies get old too, I say.
Can I talk to him?
You can try.
Leah bounds over to where he sits
surrounded by green-and-white latticework,
asks something I can’t hear, then runs back.
He told me he’s got five bunnies in his family.
But he can’t talk, I remind her.
She gives me a look that means–
Get with the program.
Then Leah’s playing a game
with her furry friend.
Simon says, touch your head.
Simon says, touch your knees.
Now touch your shoulders.
Each time the Easter Bunny gets it right.
See, HE listens to me, she says,
which coming from a four-year-old
sounds very much like accusation.