You are a go-getter, among the first of
dormant creatures to awaken from cold
certain death with blinking eyes—
your tiny amphibious pupils darting
side-to-side from behind your robber’s
mask with wonder. And what must it
feel like to continuously, realize a body,
to wake after frozen sleep and uncurl
from the dark leaf litter, naked, lone-
some, and new. Thawing in gilded sun,
you slink from a place of utter power-
lessness to frog-hood. Just like that,
you are filled with verve again, simply
born to eat and mate. I am envious
of this multifaced reflex, this choice-
lessness on your part. Me, myself, I
am permeated with choices. And they
seep into the pores of my skin
and harden around the cells
in my body rendering paralysis.
I have never risen to re-apprehend
the scope of my body,
to the miraculous experience of
understanding it as vessel only.
I have never been able to dissect
the workings of my own behavior
patterns—have I even done anything
on this planet for the survival
of my species? Tell me, with what
would you replace all those sleepy
months if you could? Would it be
more of the same—a life-long
dedication to innate biology? Or
would you take up altruism?
And what do I even know of life—
looking to frogs for answers?
Tell me, have you ever produced
a single sound so many times that
it meant nothing?
–
Hollie Dugas lives in New Mexico. Her work has been included in Barrow Street, Reed Magazine, Qu, Redivider, Porter House Review, Blue Earth Review, EPOCH, Salamander, The Louisville Review, The Penn Review, Breakwater Review, The National Poetry Review, Third Coast, RHINO, Sixth Finch, and Gordon Square Review. Most recently, Hollie was the recipient of the Rash Award at Broad River Review.