Spring.
The small pond has warmed.
The sound of peepers surrounds us.
Don removes his shoes,
his socks, unzips
the legs of his pants.
He wades in, scoops.
A big one! Into a small jar.
But, no— not a big one—
a mating pair.
The male embraces the female.
His long green arms clasp
her to him. He presses himself
to the convex curve of her X-marked
back, clings for dear life, jostled
and sloshed – delicious anguish –
as we voyeurs pass the jar
from hand to hand. He will cling
until their world calms
enough for her to release
her string of eggs, their legacy.
—
Poet Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. Among the anthologies and journals in which her poetry has appeared are: Feral, The Widows’ Handbook, Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Peacock Journal, Wordpeace, New Verse News, Portside, Your Daily Poem. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, as well as the Best of the Net and Bettering American Poetry anthologies.
