post cards from arizona & jars full of rain

i tipped over the terrarium
& the two toads scampered free
into the hot breath of july rain--
the trail was saturated in twilight
color-- jagged emerald leaves--
each gravel of the trail by
the stream was a freckle
washing away in the dwindling storm--
i told them to write to me &
left my address on a sticky note
on the ground next to them--
i said
tell me where you go
& where this rain takes you--
i watched them crawl into 
the forest-- caressed as
if to pull their mother's long
skirt over their heads--
i cried not because i had let
my two pet toads go but
because when i was little
& freckled 
& emerald green-- 
my father 
& i would catch toads--
i would beg him to keep them 
in the terrarium or the sand pale
on night longer but we eventually let
them go into the yard by
the sun of a porch light--
growing up is something about
release & keeping mason jars full
of rain from all your favorite storms--
at home i keep them in the cupboard
by the fireplace-- open them up
when i want it to rain from the
ceiling even if only briefly--
there are storm clouds collecting beneath
our pillows-- hail falling
from the arms of a ceiling fan--
turn on the sun &
wash the gravel from my hair & my hands--
i sat in the back seat of my car
to twist on the lid to the mason jar full of
rain from the storm
my toads went back to-- i put the
jar in the trunk & now i open
it sometimes when i feel especially lonely--
they return-- the both of them
--hop across the floor of the living
room-- mouths full of crickets--
throats pulsing like trampolines--
on monday i get the first of many post cards--
an image from the petrified forest 
national park where all the trees
are only memories-- a fallen limp
across the from of the card with the national
park logo in the corner--
i find it odd that they decided to travel to
a place with so little rain-- i consider
sending them a mason jar but i suppose
if they had wanted rain they would know
where to find it--
the card doesn't say much--
only that they had stopped at a lovely
mexican eatery on the way down & 
that they hardly ever considered eating
crickets anymore--
i don't write back to them--
just keep the postal cards in the top
drawer of my desk--
i leave their terrarium empty
& somehow haunted 
in the open window of my room--
the rain falls again from the ceiling
fan & i return to the front
seat of the car to drive home--
gravel freckled & green 
from the rain--