The Seventieth Rabbit

When Eduardo Galeano writes about 'the story of the seventy rabbits who climbed on top of each other to kiss the giraffe' I picture this: one rabbit dizzy in the golden gaze of his giraffe. He gets the kiss but sixty nine rabbits, what do they get? Weight, weary limbs and an unchanging vista of giraffe leg, giraffe chest, giraffe neck.

Seventy more rabbits wait next to their giraffes, to climb, to dream and - only one - to kiss. And behind them, another seventy.

So then I wonder: am I the seventieth rabbit? Could I be? I have the kiss. When the eye opens - blue, this eye happens to be - it sees me. It folds around me like a wing and all is well. But could it also be that I am standing, all the while, on the dry shoulders of sixty nine women like me?

Sixty nine without love. And then, by graceful twirls of chance I, number seventy.