A n n e W a l d m a n : K e e p i n g T h e W o r l d S a f e F o r P o e t r y
N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 5 : S p e c i a l E d i t i o n
ALLISON HEDGE COKE
In my basement a red toad breathes.
Each morning the urge to check his mouth persists.
Remember falling? Loons lifting, calling cries
then night. Sometimes wind still carries.
When we carry toad to garden, another appears down
stairs where each morning the urge to check his mouth.
Some warn poison, some claim truth.
Somewhere a turtle floats. Upon his back, world
spreads wide, water waits below. Declivity, it was
like this, the looseness caught so skull went pumpkin,
below sprung mush meal, legumes, lines swell more each dream.
Morning marks the seam of sky where we muster meaning.
Below the toad takes in everything. For me,
the urge to check his mouth –