Cracks in the road. Wellington Road, Lindisfarne. April 2012.
This poem by James Wright really is one of my all-time favourites. I've waxed lyrical about this poem to quite a few people over the years, and more than a handful struggle to believe that the image of a frog destroyed by a car could ever be interpreted romantically. I assert that it is! [SPOILER ALERT] This is a poem about risk. Sometimes, just sometimes, the risk is worth it.
Small Frogs Killed On The Highway, James Wright
Still,
I would leap too
Into the light,
If I had the chance.
It is everything, the wet green stalk of the field
On the other side of the road.
They crouch there, too, faltering in terror
And take strange wing. Many
Of the dead never moved, but many
Of the dead are alive forever in the split second
Auto headlights more sudden
Than their drivers know.
The drivers burrow backward into dank pools
Where nothing begets
Nothing.
Across the road, tadpoles are dancing
On the quarter thumbnail
Of the moon. They can't see,
Not yet.
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