on this walk, i wait
for the blue evening to thumb itself into my bony hips like an old lover.
in the dark and ripped
open on the slush-snow,
a crushed rabbit regards me.
rounded like the beat-blink of a black eye; a bruised fruit, a pistol crack
of love.
i twitch. i furrow my brow.
i tremble like empty seed pods, fat, husky masses balled and brittle with longing.
the streets grow quieter; a vein is emptied out onto the sidewalk.
these days, my hands get cold quite easily—
            something about my inability to eat,
            my failure to keep myself alive in any meaningful manner.
            this metabolism is no match for my hunger.
would you like to hold them?

Anne Fu is a non-binary teenager from somewhere in southern Ontario. They enjoy showing empathy to small insects and have been published a couple of times before.

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