Frogs chirp in rounds in the muck
of what’s left of April’s farm pond.
20 years ago, a rancher pulled a calf
out of the hole in its ice
with rope, plywood and a pickup.
I open windows at bedtime to listen.
2015
Frogs chirp in rounds in the muck
of what’s left of April’s farm pond.
20 years ago, a rancher pulled a calf
out of the hole in its ice
with rope, plywood and a pickup.
I open windows at bedtime to listen.
2015
Is “April’s” referring to the month, or a person. I like that it could be either/both. (Such is the stuff of poetry.)
Frogs singing in rounds. Love this image.
What is the whispering that remains: the one you go to sleep by—frog chorus or rescued calf?
I fall asleep in my collective recollections of the pond…the new chorus, the memory shared of the rescued calf by a past tenant whose family lived here for generations…