Rosemarie Koch


In June my brother mowing lawns
has brought a gift:
a small brown speckled toad,
its heart another wild

animal altogether beneath
smooth flecked skin.

We make a carriage house for it:
a couch of grass, and a doll's wagon
for when it travels out upon
the lawns like a prince. The toad

reclines in its small box
all day while we eat
raspberries in
the sun, at night

illuminated by the
words of
lightning it
waits and I dream.

In the morning
the toad has fled,

and in August I find
the shell of a toad,
behind a leaf of raspberry,

clear free to better

Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Occupation: Mom / Webmaster
Publications: Snakeskin, Lingerings, Stirring, etc.

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