Tag Archives: Anthony Frame

Anthony Frame

Anthony Frame is an exterminator who lives in Toledo, Ohio with his wife. He is the author of one book, A Generation of Insomniacs (Main Street Rag Press, 2014) and two chapbooks, Paper Guillotines (Imaginary Friend Press, 2010) and Everything I Know … (ELJ Publications, forthcoming). A third chapbook, To Gain the Day, is forthcoming from Red Bird Chapbooks. His work has been awarded an Individual Excellence Grant from the Ohio Arts Council and recent poems have been published in or are forthcoming from Harpur Palate, Third Coast, The North American Review, Redactions, The Dirty Napkin, Gulf Stream and diode among others. Learn more at http://www.anthony-frame.com/.

 

When Rain isn’t Rain

Sometimes, it’s air, sticky but still breathable, it needs no clouds,
as if it comes up from the soil, heavy but too heavy to be held

by gravity. And people walk through it, unaware. The day won’t stop
so we ignore it, pretend all oxygen is dry, even though, near the river,

we can see it hovering, we can hold it, we can touch it if we
hold out our hands. Like the girl in the picture on the lamppost,

did you see her? Try and you might taste her purple lollipop.
She used to walk through this neighborhood, here where the police

don’t come, where there are cameras on every corner. Sometimes,
rain seems to have a color, even on a day like today, dry as dirt.

It means the swamp is trying to come back, that damp barely hidden
beneath our concrete. It means you can’t tell your skin from the wind,

the air from sweat. It means we can ignore anything, if we want,
dry rain, damp air, rainbows like halos above the river, children stolen

beneath the sun, within the shadows of cameras. The third girl this month.
Sometimes, the rain is invisible. Sometimes, it’s just waiting to be seen.

Anthony Frame

Anthony Frame is an exterminator who lives in Toledo, Ohio with his wife. His first book of poems, A Generation of Insomniacs, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag Press. His chapbook, Paper Guillotines, was published by Imaginary Friend Press and recent poems have been published in or are forthcoming from Harpur Palate, Third Coast, The North American Review, Redactions, The Dirty Napkin, Gulf Stream and diode among others. He is also the co-founder and co-editor of Glass: A Journal of Poetry. Learn more at http://www.anthony-frame.com/.

 

Everything I Know I Learned from Kermit the Frog

It can’t be easy, froggy baby,
carrying the world on your

anthropomorphic shoulders. I’d hate
being a typecast hero, happiness

the order of everyday, never allowed
to display your neuroses. Your chemophobia

or ornithophobia. It’s hard not being
a scream, everything boiling beneath

your chest, while you keep singing about
rainbows and the color of leaves

until you forget to feel the heat inside
your heart, all those banned thoughts

about who’s in control. Sit with me,
Kermit, let’s share a smoke and figure out

why it’s so troubling to be so sentient.
Like, how I’m not sure a frog has a soul

so what do I do with a puppet that
feels so real? Look, the leaves are changing,

beauty through death. Do you ever
think about it? Just a snip of the strings

so you can go limp. I doubt thoughts
of death ever cross your fingernail-

mind. Kermie, why do I want to confess
my ommetaphobia and zeusophobia to you?

It must be tough being responsible
for everyone’s laughter while having

to hold their sorrow in your tiny,
felt fingers. Sometimes, without

the aid of a puppeteer’s hand, I find
it’s not easy remembering to breathe.