Appalachia Ponds Spare No(body)
- Alyssa Julian
- May 22
- 1 min read
by Alyssa Julian
He started a
cell blossom inside
Mama,
he ended a
bud outside
her.
I tell her
Maybe he grow in
the frog pond.
He speak to us
in frog song
and wave to us
in pondweed figures
we ain’t yet
understand.
When it get wicked
in there, I pull them vines
from his wisteria-lined tongue.
He’ll come up
with amphibious gills
and be able to do
so much more,
he bless them ponds better
than we ever could.
Mama say
He ain’t coming up, Baby
we see ‘im when God let us.
She never listen to the water
like I do, hear how the frogs
speak in infant-talk.
I ain’t believe Mama.
Sometimes I think she right.
***
Alyssa “Aly” Julian is an undergraduate student in Bowling Green State University’s (Bowling Green, Ohio) Creative Writing B.F.A. program, with minors in English Literature and Women’s Studies. She enjoys reading and writing female-driven narratives and ecopoetry, and those strange, experimental works which seek to combine the two. Her work often focuses on themes of girlhood, gender discrimination, and nature as a maternal figure.
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