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.