His floppy pink ears no longer sit at a jaunty angle
But droop behind his head so he looks like Doraemon
His pink fur has faded over the years
It’s hard to tell where the white fur of his stomach begins
The polka dot bow around his neck is wrinkled up under his chin
His fluffy white tail has been sewn back on twice
His name has changed thrice, from ‘Bunny’ to ‘Axel’ to ‘Marly’
But the warmth from his embrace remains the same
It is a poor substitute for her
But when I swallow Marly in my arms
I try not to picture her laying in a stark white room
With tubes and clicks on the marble floor
And the overwhelming smell of bleach
Instead I smell her son’s barbeque
See her playing with her dog
And hear her talking my mother’s ear off
Until these are no longer memories
I will sit and hold Marly close
And let my mother take a picture
So she’ll know that he’s comforting me
When everything seems so uncertain