The Tadpole Pond
wasn’t amusing to our cousin Kelly
when she got too close to gaze
at the large heads in that shallow pool
and fell in, her clothes becoming coated
with their paisley shapes. Never one
for the woods, she looked like a scarecrow
when she walked stiffly back
to the farmhouse, arms outstretched.
But she claims she was seated on a horse
when she fell from on high. Funny
how memory can live so close to
conviction. In her mind, she was
something like a centauris, and in my
mind she was nothing like a frog.
Dana Holley Maloney is a native New Jerseyan who lives and writes in midcoast Maine. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in The Baltimore Review, The Lake, Split Rock Review, and elsewhere. She teaches English at Montclair State University. More at danamaloney.com.