I played in this puddle
Before the murky clouds blew
In, misting over the tiny tadpoles
Swimming within. I gently
Stick my finger in, and brush
The stones at the bottom.
My mother watches from the
Kitchen window, face nearly covered.
Anne's Lace, is there a more beautiful way
To hide fear? Like the frog that looks on
As I make ripples on the water. I look back and
There is understanding still between us.
Until I get up, wipe off my finger
And crush her under my sole.