porch toad

thank you for always coming back.
i am here to tell you the house
i used to live in is now a half-dead lawn
with a rusted pipe jutting from
the earth. yesterday i passed by
& remembered the concrete porch
where you would come
& eat flies with me. sometimes
my father would sit with us too
but my favorite nights
were the ones where it was just
you & my bare feet.
we are all no longer as soft
as we used to be. i am glad
that the backyard ghost trees
are still there & that hopefully maybe
you might go to the parking lot next door
to swallow enough bugs to keep you fed.
i remember the first night 
you returned. i saw the orange-brown
patterns behind your eyes
& i knew you were the same creature
from the night before. i named you
but i do not remember what.
it doesn't matter. i have a different name
now too. i read somewhere that toads
only travel about a mile
in their lifetime. i know that means
you will not come to the porch
of my new home. sometimes
i find other others in the yard.
they are nothing like you were.
more skittish & prone to hiding
in the rotting pile of stumps
beneath the cedar. i hope that when we left
you did not miss me too much.
i hope the soil is damp & rich. i hope
your children all have places
to feast. o my dear porch toad
if you do come back, let us not talk
about the time that has passed.
i will pretend i am a little girl
if you pretend it is still a humid night
in august where both of us are full.