feet

i had a purple rabbit's foot key chain.
the fur on it was soft & 
i caressed 
it for luck on the way 
to grade school, 
i felt each notched toe.
curious, i'd grip the cool metal base
where the limb stopped.
i check my limbs.

somewhere there are thousands
of three legged rabbits
in all different colors.
they hop askew & they spend 
their whole lives looking
for that one limb.

as all rabbits are shapeshifters,
they try becoming
three-legged horses 
& one-footed owls.
they attempt different bodies,
trapped in their uneven-ness.
i check my limbs

& i ask myself at night,
when i go looking for the keychain,
who it was who cut off
their feet-- was it me?
if it was, i don't remember.
do you remember all
the things you've done wrong?

i check all my limbs
& i ask the rabbits to cut
off my left foot, so i can
be like them. 
for luck.

there's so  many rabbits
all of them in my house,
in the yard,
knocking over bookshelves 
& digging in cabinets
for the foot but it's 
no where to be found.

the rabbits cry
& the purple one lays
down on the floor by my bed
i feel guilty of something
but i don't know what

& i ask to see where
the foot was taken from,
peering at the marred fur
i get an idea.

i take them all
to the curious shop up
the street 
where they sell
rabbit's feet, all dangling
around the check out counter.

we buy one 
& tie it to the purple rabbit's leg.
he tests it out 
& thanks me.

none of them seem alarmed 
by the use of the limbs
of another rabbit. 

i ask them if these rabbits
will also come for me 
someday, if i go looking for
my rabbit's foot again
they laugh & laugh 
Oh yes.

& at home i consider
cutting off my own limb
& making it into a key chain,
but i don't think it would
be much luck.

instead i feed 
more three-legged rabbits,
i pray to them 
i ask for good fortune
& all night they stare 
at me, waiting for 
me to fall asleep so 
they can tear apart
the house for the foot