re-reading the velveteen rabbit at thirty-seven

amy saul-zerby

I don’t want to hang
on your every word

but of course, I care
what you think.

There is so much space
between love and

obsession. I know because
I’ve walked it

end to end. I have wanted
to disappear

into love and (forgive me)
I’ve taken

it for granted, and now
I do not want to do either

ever again, but I would
spread out a blanket

in the middle with you.
I would chart

the in-between holding
your hand (not

too tight) a kid or two
in the back,

or not, and I’d get
so much older

and you’d notice
every weirdness

but maybe, you’d stay
and I’d stay

not because we vowed to
or out of habit

or fear of being alone
but because it is better

than anything to be
here together

and accepted, and challenged,
and challenged again

and loved until we are
two shabby dolls

in a nursery full of shiny
new toys


but it doesn’t matter
because we are so

very, very
real.