Poetry of Issue #8        Page 38

Tree Frogs

It gets so dark at 5 PM.
We are standing at the bus stop, laughing
You in your small museum shirt and me in my white one
Our coats open over them.
We are talking about the tree frog show
On our way home from the doctor.
Soon enough we will have the salad I made
The cranberry and goat cheese one I put away for supper.
In your bath after dinner there will be a blue boat
With a bear sailing in it, looking out at the bubbles.
They’ve kept both of us from drowning.

There’s always the fear of the curtain shadows
The ones I say can’t hurt you, though other things can and do
The museum shirt will be clipped at the ER after a seizure
The shaking limbs, unseeing eyes, the longest three minutes.

Look, you say to me at the museum,
The orange and green tree frogs are all poisonous.
We watch them breathe in their terrariums.
The play of light makes them glimmer.
How do they handle them here, you ask,
Do they touch them in a special way?
The museum guide smiles and reassures us,
They’re not poisonous when they’re here
Because we change their diet.