Rabbit Hunting
Driving
up highway 85 to take me to school,
catching a glimpse of Fort Vasquez,
sitting there, clay putty walls, a museum,
sandwiched between highway on either side,
my Papa would point to the hills to the east and tell the tale of
December 7th 1941:
"Me and Donald, who was really more my brother's friend then mine,
were rabbit hunting, which I hardly ever did.
Donald pointed out to a bushy area of the hill,
'I'm gonna get him watch.' I didn't even see a rabbit there.
Donald pointed his gun up to the sky.
I thought he was crazy but he arched his shot
and SMACK,
the little rabbit came tumbling down the hill.
I don't think I hit one rabbit that day.
Coming home that night in his little convertible,
we turned the radio on to listen to some tunes,
but there weren't any on. We flipped though all the stations but, no music,
all they were talking about was the Japaneses and somewhere called
Pearl Harbor."
~Annette
Poem written in the spring of 2003
Photographs taken on August 5th 2015
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