Rabbit Suit

My father used to light matches with a Bic
and casually say,
that if it’s a shredded up piece of paper
then it’s probably worth something
or once was.
When our mother went to book club,
my father put on a rabbit suit.
He folded and stacked his human clothes
neatly on milk crates in the garage.
He’d get sit on the couch,
drink a bottle of vodka
and call friends from college.
He never said anything about his rabbit suit.
The memory ended up like a shredded piece of paper.
Something that meant something,
or touched something that was.

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