Am meisten gelesen ▸
Dave Bonta
an eye that takes
two weeks to open
how to sleep through that
unwavering gaze
round as an infant
indifferent as a cane toad
to some appearance
of planetary conjunction
much less any hypothetical
end of life on earth
where the other eye
now dreams storms
pond the size
of a table for four
spring peepers
the distant cry
of a migrant gull
frantic wings
against the window’s
good night moon
I remember how I talked myself out of my fear of the dark at age eight. Or did I? I’ve never been able to watch horror movies — I don’t want those sorts of monsters running loose in my imagination. There are enough real monsters in the news, I say to myself.
Why do you, Toad, look at me
So impassive, so self-assured?
You sit - no, squat on all your fours
your warty skin, wrinkled and ridged
Your glands swollen with poison -
Think I didn't know?
Go forth, be not afraid of me!
Go forth and procreate!
For you and your kind, here -
A blade of grass, a dried leaf
A twig to play with -
The shade of the great trees -
And over there, Kunthi, for your children!