What if the Easter Bunny
was not a bunny at all
but was actually
a lonely old woman?
The skin on her face is wrinkled
like a beige washcloth
which has been scrunched up
and then flattened out again.
Her pale eyes
are the color of diluted milk.
And her hands tremble like the body of a wounded deer
staring straight into the eyes
of the wolf about to devour it.
This woman withstands all pain.
Even the agony
of laying brightly colored eggs
for children to find
on Easter.
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