2020.01.18
SEE. SEE?I have been trying to find this poem for ages - all my googling was for naught even though my memory of a number of the ending line turns out to be accurate. I just found it in a web-based snapshot I had constructed of everything I had on my PalmPilot...
See where the frog
under the grass bank sits--
Where I would sit
if I were afraid.
I came down to the lake
this morning, to get away
from the dish/spoon clash
of familiar, familial
loving. Frog sits
rocking on the round
chest of his breathing.
I've seen his black-and-green
eye, I've seen the light
make a wet spot in it.
And there's the tight gold
line of his underjaw,
there's his small large body.
The question: *Why don't you
want to catch him?* A new
answer: *Because he's scared.*
Out in the wet cool air, this
frog's cheeks shudder
like gills out of water.
And I am not yet perfect,
either. I am not yet
adult and whole.
I didn't keep myself from moving.
Too green. He had to leap.
I like "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" a lot because "if they don't win it's a shame!" is the maximum healthy amount to care about any sport.
