Self-Batrachology, by Cecelia Tivey
the old swamp is still—
crystal cold waters sit
a sparkling emerald
with the sun’s reflection.
but the riverbank is
a different story. my
family of frolicking frogs
scatters the grassy island,
sipping their cricket teas
& nibbling their fly pies!
a worm slithers across the moss
and i snatch that instead
slurp the slime that slides
across my tongue
i go to cool off— leap &
plunge into the hazy waters
that wrinkle around me. i am
enveloped in a distant frost
through thin skin
i am frozen. breaking
the surface i try to
insist to them
it’s not too bad!
pump webbed feet.
hastily swim circles.
wide ripples tremor
out to the edges,
greeting the frogs who’d rather
pretend under the sun
than dive into unknown waters.
Cecelia Tivey is a seventeen-year-old poet from Connecticut, where she attends Greens Farms Academy. Her work has appeared in The America Library of Poetry, American High School Poets and Poets Choice. She’s been awarded two Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Silver Keys in poetry. Cecelia workshopped with and had previous work edited by Peter LaBerge, founder and Editor-in-Chief of The Adroit Journal. This is her first submission to The Howl.
— Cecelia Tivey
