Dirty Hands by T. Boehle-Satterfield

 

"Speculations on the Structure of the World" by T. Boehle mixed media on canvas 2011

“Speculations on the Structure of the World” by T. Boehle mixed media on canvas 2011

A dull colored, insulated metal crate sat outside the front door on the front porch of every house up and down the street.  I used it everyday playing house and store.  And once lined the bottom with little fists full of pulled grass for a toad.  I was going to keep him and raise him to be mine.  I would teach him all I knew about love and goodness.  We would be happy together.  I held him carefully cupped in my fat pink mitts, sticky from a sweet drink and stained with grass and earth.  It was just the two of us.  And I imagined all that our lives lived together would provide for us.  I brought my face close in to share my joy; to show my friend my smiling face.  Mouth full of new teeth.  Corners stained orange.  And he returned my heartfelt gesture.  Pee dripped from the spaces between my fingers and without notice I left him go.  Opened my hands and he fell to the ground, righted himself and hopped under a bush at the edge of the porch.  I wiped my hands on my shirt.  “Come on,” someone called and I ran out after a mob of kids chasing a musical van.  No money in my pockets or in my dirty hands.  I didn’t know enough to care.  I was just learning about toads, and pee, and ice cream trucks.

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