Toad Dreams, poem by Marge Piercy

TOAD DREAMS
by Marge Piercy

That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it.”—Henry Thoreau

The dream of toads: we rarely
credit what we consider lesser
life with emotions big as ours,
but we are easily distracted,
abstracted. People sit nibbling
before television’s flicker watching
ghosts chase balls and each other
while the skunk is out risking grisly
death to cross the highway to mate;
while the fox scales the wire fence
where it knows the shotgun lurks
to taste the sweet blood of a hen.
Birds are greedy little bombs
bursting to give voice to appetite.
I had a cat who died of love.
Dogs trail their masters across con-
tinents. We are far too busy
to be starkly simple in passion.
We will never dream the intense
wet spring lust of the toads.
***
“Toad dreams” appears in Marge Piercy’s collection Stone, Paper, Knife (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983), available at Amazon.com.

Image: “Prince” by Shane Holsclaw. Prints available at finartamerica.com.

Toad Symphony, Story by Jason Kerzinski

TOAD SYMPHONY, 5 DAYS AFTER HURRICANE ISAAC

Story by Jason Kerzinski

Another day at the office. My apron is soiled in coffee and splatterings of food particles. My mind is exhausted from another double. My feet ache. My calluses are starting to engulf both my feet. I should really get myself to a foot doctor. That or go to the Wal-Mart on Tchoupitoulas and buy myself a pair of new shoes. I would have but I haven’t felt like riding public transportation the last few days.

It’s strange. I’m always gung-ho about riding public transportation. The symphony of voices puts me at ease. It’s my time to sit back, relax, and observe the comings and goings of the ever-eclectic bunch of passengers. I’m just not into riding. I’m hoping the joy of riding comes back soon. It’s my place of refuge. It’s my first wonder of the world.

“The streetcar is coming,” the man standing next to me says. He’s 5 feet 8 inches tall with gruff sideburns and the yellowest teeth that I have ever seen. I see he has a smoking addiction, too.

I enter the streetcar hesitantly. I’m not ready to ride public transportation again. Where is this sudden fear of riding public transportation coming from? I exit the streetcar cautiously. I decide that I’m not quite ready. Thankfully, I did, or I would have never heard such an electrifying musical accompaniment in my life.

Halfway home, in the distance, I hear toads. It’s symphonic in its beauty. I know I’ve heard this piece before. Was it symphony Number 4 by Bach? What was the song? It sounds so familiar. How do toads know about Bach?   Who knew toads were musical geniuses?

My head hits the pillow. The toad symphony lulls me to sleep. Thanks to the toad symphony, my mind is at ease. The storm blues are fading away. Tomorrow I’m going to ride public transportation again. United Cab Company isn’t going to get any more of my hard-earned dollars. Looks like things are looking up.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jason Kerzinski is a playwright, short story writer, poet, and artist who lives in New Orleans.

PHOTO: Edson Matthews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED