The Year Of The Rabbit | Ted Vaca

Image: Ella de Kross

The Year of the Rabbit

after the blast
or the fireworks on tv
after the kiss or the wish

to sleep eventually
in the den

the morning will come

that huge bright burning giant
will shine
as you are suppose to

in its glory you too will rise

you may shake
then scratch your head
rub your eyes
then open

what a place
we find ourselves on

this big blue and green
scream / a marble
what seems to be

in the blink of an eye

what are you to do
with it

(this is a question asked
with infinite possibilities)

go then now
and do it

do one

quick before the shadow
before the night or the day
for who knows
when you’ll go

best get a heads start
on it
best get to it
best go dancing
put on your super suit
and make your fate

to mean something
where we lie
stand in line
with chance


go be gifted is the line 
the rabbit races toward
if you can run alongside 
the hare
then learn learn it all
open the book that stands
green upon prairie
at dawn
nibble at it
share all you’ve read by others 
that have lifted
the pen the key the grass 
the thought 
the heavy dirty learning
with a dim lamp in the dusk 
yearning for life
go be a gift 
go be a being that lifts 
be akin
a family bearing gems
go be wild 
in life 
and in dreams

dare often as atoms that smash
go rise above the noise
go rise lift yourself up
to give ear
to 	your voice
your 	chance
your 	doing
your 	wish

you put forth
you pull forward

the universe lifts

Ted Vaca, Denver poet father lover crime fighter / semi holy somewhat sweet can be bitter / published here and there / Founder of The Mercury Cafe poetry slam / Coach of the 2006 Championship Denver Slam Team / Member of 1995 Championship slam team from Asheville NC / Intergalactic Provocateur

Bacon – Caleb Ferganchick


It is 6AM on a Monday
and I am standing in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
On any other Monday I would have recognized this obscurity
as the manic episode it is, pop a hydroxyzine
to ease the crushing anxiety of false optimism
washing over me like the covers I’d pull back
over my body until the doctor could see me again.
I’ve learned my emotions are like Mondays,
tidal waves that roll over me with a force I cannot control,
and I don’t know if its these smoker’s lungs
or a lifetime of coping mechanisms that never keep me afloat,
but swimming is an exercise
that has always resulted in drowning.

But on this particular Monday,
Love slinks out of the bedroom.

Love slinks out of the bedroom with the audacity to be perfect,
with tousled hair and sleep clinging to his eyes
that makes me fear perhaps I grasped too tightly in the night,
clasped on to his body like a buoy in the harbor
former sailors have mistaken for their sanctuary,
intending to restore their masts on the days when sunshine implores me
to be the band-aid on the world’s sails, only to hoist them up
in the gale of my storm ridden seas in search of calmer waters.

I am worried that if I share these things with Love
my words will flash like beams of light permeating
from some rocky outpost, imploring him to heed the warning
of ships drowned by waves that rose with no warning.

But Love’s smile breaks the shivering dawn
and he plants a weary kiss on my lips as if to say,
“Let’s be castaways together.”

I think that maybe, on this particular Monday,
it’s very possible Love and mania are the same.
I think that maybe, instead of medicating Love,
I want to cook him breakfast.

I think so what if I rarely have the resolve
to care for my own body, so what
if my queer is not culinary inclined?

I remember how it struck me suddenly
that he was a sunflower suspended
on an endless seascape horizon,
and what is a poet’s lot in life
save to nurture flowers?

Somewhere between the rich soil of black coffee beans
and the scramble of whipping eggs
I manage to burn the bacon.

The lighthouse is now a smoke alarm.

The ocean an iron skillet.

Monday is a Monday.

It is 6AM.

But Love,
Love eats the bacon anyway


Caleb Ferganchick is a queer slam poet residing in Grand Junction, CO. He is the self-published author of “Poetry Heels.” His work gravitates toward gender and sexuality expression, LGBTQI+ liberation, trauma, and mental health, though he is currently exploring nature writing inspired by rural Western Colorado through a children’s book series. Ferganchick hosts an annual poetry slam competition in Grand Junction, “Slamming Bricks,” during Colorado West Pride’s Festival in honor of the 1969 Stonewall Riots. When he is not writing, Ferganchick works for a non-profit organization dedicated to ending youth homelessness, and as a high school speech and debate coach.


This poem is from our first print collection
of poetry,  “Thought For Food”, an anthology
benefiting Denver Food Rescue. To support
our fundraiser, please visit this link.

Thought For Food Promotional 1