Jo the hare
Wires are sewn into her lanky limbs, perhaps after she’s known you enough, she’ll let you pose her.
But never her ears.
They are made to stand with only fabric and thread, moving as the wind moves.
I kept adding layers until the ears are strong to take shape on their own.
She takes in so much of the world, every flower calling the bees, or the next person’s endless phone notification.
When she sits alone looking straight ahead but at nothing in particular, she is looking inside, listening to herself.
I call her Jo.