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Four children clamoring
around him, who am I to say what crimes
I might commit in his shoes?
Leaving the woods, his father-hands clasped
loosely around their living souvenir, one of his brood
squeals, What if he pees in your hand!
By the time it sinks in
that they are adopting a tiny frog, a baby,
the man and his children have escaped.
I hurt with empathy, feel the heart-thump
of being trapped amid unfamiliar smells, hemmed
by dry, fleshy walls, throat constricted by fear.
For the rest of my hike, I can hear it
in every creek tributary, how every croak
wails after one that is lost.
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