My children will never know
the pleasure of hopping past cow pies dried
gray in the flowering meadow, coming
close enough to lay their foreheads against
the cows’ scratchy hair. The smell of clover,
of meadow, of milk, of a sky over
the little creek behind the neighbor’s fence,
nor feel the sound of the bees’ gold humming
nor the spit flick of a grasshoppers’ fried
buzzing in a newly hayed field. No toads
startling fly-flopping from a damp crevice
in a split pile of granite. No frog’s eggs
in a milk bottle, no pollywogs legs
appearing, tadpole tails at their service,
nor even silence, a forgotten road.
Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her most recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.