Something Nameless from Issue 47
A person with no barrettes in her hair,
looking face down into the lake, the shadows of fish,
the arm dangling,
of course she didn’t know exactly
what she wanted, only something,
in the Louisiana sun, the hum and buzz,
almost silent, nothing fancy,
an exact stillness on the surface:
underneath tadpoles grew fat,
half-buried in the mud.
In her hand she caught one,
stroked the white belly
silky wet like an eyeball,
gently poked, the placed it back
in the warm yellow water,
and the fluid green tail
and the beginnings of legs
fluttered as it hid
itself away again.
