Girl without a Mother to Her Big Brother

I never saw so many frogs; 
neither did you. We walked 
the tracks, sometimes stepping 
from tie to tie, sometimes 
walking the rail—holding 
our hands out as if 
for balance. It was all show. 
Our balance was never 
in question. Besides, the danger 
ran in the other direction, 
along the bridge. We 
could look down, almost dizzy, 
and see the river. But even there, 
we didn’t need our hands— 
only our feet 
and our knowing the way. 

They were in the hole 
under the beet dump, 
flooded with spring sub water, 
little frogs, noisy and so many 
we ran home, using the road, 
using big steps and racing 
so we could bring back 
a shoebox. We filled that thing 
with frogs and took them home, 
taking turns carrying. 
We knew what we needed, 
but we had no plan. Only later 
we discovered big sisters 
do not understand a throbbing 
shoebox Monday morning 
under the clothesline.