Frog

I found him on the steps to my father’s church

he saw me first and blinked

I stood perfectly still, silent, smiling

watching him watching me

my fingers dangling at my sides

his fingers outstretched and immobile before him,

thick with knobby knuckles, dry with heat,

sticky on cracked concrete

his small body shook with fear

of me

I wondered if he had a name

when I wrapped my thin fingers round his pudgy belly

he made no attempt to escape

so I raised him up

slowly,

steadily,

with great triumph

and a twinge of awe

and brought his face to mine

and in his eyes

I saw the look of hope

mixed with despair

a look I see a lot

in the eyes of Father’s followers

as I returned him

gently

to his place upon the stairs

I wondered if I

had caused him

to lose his way