Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Frog House

I choose to make myself blue,
I know,
when I dig up these bones -

the little creek I'd sneak to
with gum and string
to catch crawdads
and escape things
I didn't have names for.
A door in the blackberry
only I could see.

By the water,
I'd stick my feet in the mud
as far as they could go,
then pile on more, smoothing
and patting and shaping,
making a frog house.
The barest twist of an ankle.  Slowly

wiggle out a foot.
Lots of times, the mud was too thin
and the roof caved in.
But other times it held firm
long enough to dry in the sun
and stand so fine

I could almost live there.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

14 comments:

Buddah Moskowitz said...

I could feel the coolness of the mud, of the milieu. A very soothing calm poem. Liked very much.

Kerry O'Connor said...

You take the simplicity of childhood and imbue it with a magic, through your amazing descriptions and gift of telling a story from the inside out. I wish I had seen the doors in blackberries and made houses for frogs. Thanks to you, I've seen a glimpse of another world.

Marion said...

Awesome, MZ. Growing up on a farm, my sisters and I made hundreds of frog houses in the freshly plowed garden dirt. We'd get up early the morning after our building excursions and run outside to see if any frogs moved in. To our delight, they often did. The simple joys of childhood. xo

Timoteo said...

Room for frogs (Toads?) and maybe Princes too.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

You took me right there. I could live there, too. It sounds like heaven.

brudberg said...

This must have been long before you tried to feast on crawdads.. I like how the thought of building froghouses.. I could feel that warm mud (and would need it for my cold feet)

Sylvia K said...

I'm ready! When can I move in?

Katy Magee said...

Oh - I know this place... I had one just like it when I was a child. I used it to escape things I couldn't name, too.

Thank you for this.

thotpurge said...

Your words flow so easily..bringing back childhood memories even when they don't include frog houses..lovely!

Gail said...

I know this place. And you have described it so well.

Jim said...

Nice, Mom Zee. Reading it helps me to reach a little better into the love that two aunts I married into. They would pack up some too old to eat stinky chicken and their string balls an do their crab fishing along the bayou that has been deepened in the middle to make room as a part oh the long Houston Ship Channel.
The channel is so polluted that the crabs and fish caught are totally inedible. The must have enjoyed the oozing mud in their toes and over their feet and legs as did your poet. Along with being away from their ho hum routines, the beauty of the greenery and water, and the warming sun. I never went with them, it's too late now, both have died.
..

Fireblossom said...

You take the simplest moments from earlier in life, and imbue them with so much emotion and sweet melancholy.

Kathryn Dyche Dechairo said...

Filled with sensations and emotions, loved it.

Outlawyer said...

There's a sense of simplicity but also of the kinds of darknesses that children deal with here--well done, MZ. k.