Ukiah Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day April 8, 2008

How to Change a Frog into a Prince

Anna Denise

Start with the underwear. Sit him down.

Hopping on one leg may stir unpleasant memories.

If he gets his tights on, even backwards, praise him.

Fingers, formerly webbed, struggle over buttons.

Arms and legs, lengthened out of proportion, wait,

as you do, for the rest of him to catch up.

This body, so recently reformed, reclaimed,

still carries the marks of its time as a frog. Be gentle.

Avoid the words awkward and gawky.

Do not use tadpole as a term of endearment.

His body, like his clothing, may seem one size too big.

Relax. There’s time enough for crowns. He’ll grow into it.

Naomi Shihab Nye

On your tree surprised lemons

wore small caps of snow.

The bowl of steaming lentils

opened its wide mouth as we sat and sat,

stitching the seam of talk,

till the man with the rug from Baghdad arrived

rolling out its long length inside your door.

It was orange. It looked happy.

He had just come overland with a bundle of rugs.

When you kissed him good-bye on both cheeks

I wanted to kiss him too,

not for our offhand greeting,

or his deep eyes like furry animals

curled into lairs for the winter,

but for each doorway in Baghdad

with a rug in front of it

and humans moving in and out.