The Burrow

Good morning mama,
weeds took over the garden again
and rabbit burrows dot the lawn
but when I peek in they are empty
like your armchair
and your desk
and your spot at the table
and the space where your words would be
is a little hole in the dirt.
the downy lining, your return home
eyes forever smudged with the evidence
of unused pillows
and an ever-warm coffee pot
a little burnt at the bottom.
bunnies surround you
nest in your hair and follow at your feet
a cloud of 'come home,
go home, stay home'
but you drag them back to work
leaving burrows empty
leaving me behind
the garden overgrown
and weeds in my heart.
Good morning, mama
please bring the bunnies home.