These Ten Toads

by Erica Mazzeo

These ten toads it took,

to return to you.

The first one demure,

the second unsure,

third and fourth, have never

been there for.

The fifth toad makes me

sway with each

creaking bridge it takes

to get back to you.

The fifth toad screams,

"is this what you really want

after all we've been through?"

The sixth toad is pumped

up on blow and

booze,

he walks in on my trek

and exclaims,

"excuse me -- i didn't mean to intrude"

The seventh is into

some kind of transcendental meditation,

the eighth lost her place

(and has never returned to reclaim it) -

Number nine most divine

- but not really this time.

Ten toads it takes

hopping from

one to one

on

one foot.

Ten toads so close,

and number ten so near.

But somehow my dear,

I fear it's only a ghost of you

and what was way back when ...

...and

it's late,

and

I need to get back home,

like when i was so young.

so so so young, once.

It's time for me to invent

my own words.

And the path back home

is full of sand and remembrance,

lined with toads and

sea glass, crowns

and fingerprints.