Friday, April 30, 2010

A Frog Named Gretchen

If I had rubber frog named Gretchen and slept in a hollow log
With an owl, eagle, and three hawks
And a brown snake with a yellow braid down its back—
It would feel crowded.

I would take Gretchen to the stream 
And tell her not to be afraid as we step
Together over a bridge of rocks
Covered in green mud

Sticking to our socks and between our fingers
In our ears
Until we no longer hear the roar
Of the Maniac who tries to weed-whack us

With the sickle of his fingernail.
All the time we keep moving—
My heart is like melting wax, fear
Stretches marks inside my soft thigh. 

I know we have sprung to this moment unprotected
As stinging beetles scream a cupcake of obscenities.
Press Gretchen’s clammy mouth to my mouth
Until we are almost past the past.

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