march

the toads have been waiting
like frozen hamburgers in the dirt. all winter
my father used to talk to them with me.
then i would go barefoot in the yard on the first day
the frost broke. heard the toads
unthawing. showed my father
my best karate moves i had. he closed his eyes
& fell asleep. when it rained
they wriggled from the soil. we were/are
amphibians too. it is a hereditary kind of indecision. 
on the radio a man was blowing up
a giant balloon. i would buy dollar-store 
helium balloons just to let them go
with notes around their necks.
one reading, "i don't want to be a girl."
the balloon asked me, "are you sure
you want to send that?" the toads answered
for me, backing me up, saying, "yes." 
i never included a return address
& still hoped someone would find
a way to answer. i admit it. i have littered.
or, worse, i have taken a squirrel skull
from the body. there is a headless squirrel ghost
because of me. the beast i fed it to adored it. 
my partner says, "i don't actually know what you do."
it is true. the only beings who know
what i do are the toads & sometimes my father.
i have gone out into my yard & found him
coming up from the soil with them. 
against nature, i have helped them. 
march is our season. the almost time
to breathe through your damp skin.