Dozing, disengaged, soaking in the sun,
pink tongue dangling and eyes closed
to the sound of lake pounding this stretch
of empty beach, ninety pounds of dog
ignorantly presenting itself as peak
to climb, pinnacle to summit, new
opportunity for hickory-sized toad,
warty, lousy with grains of pulverized boulders,
wilding, vigorously bouncing ever closer
to the flank of Dog, heated by sun and digestion,
Toad guided as if by antennae, or radar, trusting,
never retreating, four Toad legs working
in unison, pistons, this majestic, miniature yogi,
rising up to greet the edge of reason,
or sanity, terrified, determined, both,
Toad crosses the stretch of weedy sand, presses
folded skin against short, smooth hairs, finds
bliss, Oh! Oh! Look! I’ve arrived, toy-like Toad
wide-eyed, triumphant, Dog still oblivious,
dreaming of rabbits, perhaps, habitually
chasing the unattainable, until Dog wakes,
rolls, is stunned into stillness by Toad, is blunted
by Toad’s conviction, Toad, no bigger
than Dog’s toe pads, a moment of commotion,
sand spewing and sunlight striking then
stillness, nose to nose, tip kissing tip,
Toad eyes locked on Dog eyes,
eight sandy, satisfied legs, Toad will not flee
this connection and Dog is glad,
panting, blowing life into Toad’s bumpy face.
Dog flops back to the sand and sighs.
Toad nestles beneath the chin
of Dog, warm and dark, enjoying
its itchy, hairy, imperfect haven.
—
Francesca Moroney is a mother, writer, reader, and unaccomplished pianist who believes that our best writing begins with the body. A teacher at The Writers Studio, her poems, book reviews, and essays have been published or are forthcoming in Rattle, the Los Angeles Review, Italian Americana, Cagibi, Heavy Feather Review, Crosswinds Poetry Journal, as well as other literary magazines.
