Recipe for Frog Soup by Rachel Schmieder-Gropen

I wait another minute, two,
before I give myself permission
to picture her again.

I’ve beaten her down, buried her
in a nest of glass boxes, and when
the lock clicks she tendrils out
like ink poured into the sea;
I watch the water change color,
taste the stain along my tongue:
this is permanent.

Like the proverbial frog,
I dip in my toe with the heat
turned low. I can tread water
through her dreadful spelling
and off-color jokes, I can
lift my lips to the sun
despite her favorite color.

Before her cat sweaters
trickle in, I start to wonder
if I have learned to swim.

The look in her eyes when she
talks of undiscovered planets
tugs at my ankles, throws me
off balance, sends me drifting
in the wake of cold currents
where weeds slime my feet
and I choke on the time
she climbed eight stories
to tell me she wasn’t leaving
and then the flood begins.

I lose my breath remembering
my head on her shoulder,
her hand on my face;
she laughs like a child
and it’s roaring in my ears

I could let her pull me under
below the tide, below the crash
deep in dark waters where
the salt doesn’t sting;
I’ve burnt away my skin
and all along I was the one
turning up the heat.
_______________________________

Rachel Schmieder-Gropen is a rising sophomore at Mount Holyoke College. She has published a collection of poetry and short stories and plans to release another this summer.