A wooden rabbit wearing a dinner jacket,

hands in pockets, striding forward.

Mounted on a crude wooden box,

he’s been taking that stride forward for more than 85 years.

Grandpa made it while he was in the hospital.

The Missouri State Hospital,

called the St. Louis Insane Asylum at the time.

Part of his recovery, I suppose.

Grandpa was not insane. He had seizures. 

He couldn’t control them, so couldn’t hold a job.

Some doctor convinced Grandma and Grandpa that brain surgery would help.

They were desperate and said “Yes.”

They were poor so he didn’t go to a real hospital.  

The surgery didn’t fix things.

Instead it made him docile, with slurred speech.

That’s the Grandpa I knew as a child. 

That’s the Grandpa I loved. 

The rabbit is the only thing my dad had that belonged to his father. 

Now it sits on my desk

still striding forward after 85 years.