Thursday, July 16, 2015

Poem for Linda: "Compassion."

- For Linda Hogan 

Walking in the yard, I look down, see a pale little frog, belly-up.  Not more than an inch and a half, limbs all splayed out on the hot cement.  And I think, Oh! poor thing.  I bet the dog got it.  Played with it.  I bend to pick it up by its tiny arm and - the creamy throat pulses.  Pulses.  Alive, still alive!  I flip it over in my hand, right side up.  She immediately collects herself into a crouch.  Golden eyes blink.  She’s stunned; maybe playing dead.  I put her down in a damp flowerpot, a prayer amidst a tangle of purple and pink and white and indigo. Shaded, cool.  And I leave her there.   A few hours later, I search through the flowers.  No shiny leopard-skin beauty.  Maybe she made it.  It happens that way sometimes.  Someone passing through; someone else passing through.  Paths crossing.  You reach out your hand, do – nothing spectacular.  Just what you can do.  What you can do.  

Deborah A. Miranda