My mother and I walk down
to the end of Fox Hill Road
where there's a shallow pool in tall grass
at the bottom of a neighbor's driveway.
Everything she doesn't ask lives
in that water, and everything
I don't tell her whistles in the grass.
A frog's body lies translucent
frozen in the marsh.
We crouch to examine
its stiff corpse, allow the gravel eyes
to capture ours this winter day.
The wind wraps its scarf around my shoulders
then and gradually lifts me to my feet.
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