Diana Anaya

Portrait of Self as Frog Princess

On dates I’d wear my shortest dress

so they’d have to see the scars,

sit outside in the humid Miami air

and rub my mottled, sweat slick skin

on their cheeky hands, drown

them in my pungent iron smell.

I’d belt out croaky laughs,

lean in close and wrap

my soft, sticky tongue

around theirs, fill their mouth

with viscous saliva,

and drag them in.

I never stopped being a frog.

What Happens at Night

Once upon a time magic buzzed between my fingertips,

night settled in the corners of the bedroom,

and my body was a hot wire.

Moonlight softened the edges

of the walls, chairs, kitchen counters

as I padded through the house, feeling the curves

of cups and spoons soaked in blue.

Once upon a time, my parents’ voices rose

like waves crashing on my chest,

swelling bigger, drawing closer

until I could barely breathe.

I closed my eyes and begged

their bedroom door to close,

locks to click, lights to flicker and dim,

asked the sound of midnight to silence their shouts.

Once upon a time, I could fly my heart out of that sound

and into the bay beside our home,

drop my feet into the cold water

and wait for the dots of stars to blink away.