"Toad Skin"

A weekly poem, read by the author.
Dec. 30 2003 11:11 AM

Toad Skin

Listen to Barry Goldensohn reading this poem. On a dirt road, a paper-thin dry thing like a black parchment cut-out of a toad in mid-leap, partly sideways, drawn by a master, now boneless, as if it never had bones. Only the tough skin survived the flattening by one of the rare cars here. Poor unwary thing. How much of us will last, tough, stiff, cured by summer sun. Our better towels outlast our flesh. Are Nazi lampshades holding up? Shrunken heads? Mummies? Count on bones. Stone monuments. A few poems.

Barry Goldensohn is the author of five books of poetry and a new collection of poems about music forthcoming this summer from Fomite Press.

  Slate Plus
Slate Archives
Nov. 26 2014 12:36 PM Slate Voice: “If It Happened There,” Thanksgiving Edition Josh Keating reads his piece on America’s annual festival pilgrimage.