The River Calls Them

Tadpoles in a jar

a shock of legs sprouted

tail swallowed into

bones growing from nothing,

dark nipples of

toes creeping out,

one at a time.

And the sudden need for mud.

Puffed throats and night

signals young hunters

and frogs are bathed in the salt

of child hands,

moist skin dried in too much sun,

starved beside a heap of dead flies.

At funerals

their eyes are gold

summer gazing at land,

cold toes turned into twigs.

Stiff frogs are dropped into earth

damp and waiting.