barefoot, down by the river,
hauling water, rinsing clothes,
she's kissed a thousand frogs
moist, faintly slimy,
their eyes bulging at her
as she lifts them
but not one prince among them,
and why hope for a prince
in the first place?
to live among foreigners
and have someone else
wash her clothes for her?
only there is something
she wants, something that
swells in her like sadness
when she sees her mother,
red-handed, wrinkled,
still kissing frogs.
(First published in Star*Line)
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