Thursday, September 24, 2009

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
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
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 ...

it's late,
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.

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