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.