Short Bio (c.
75-200 words) along with her fiendish colleagues, as an
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Birth (Likely)
We are all one of many, but she was one of
many many. In the cool deep, flush with algae
and other nice things to eat, she was conceived
(the electric connection of two good plans, two
clouds in the water). Some 20,000 siblings
forming a gooey raft of tiny incubators: clear,
round membranes swole like a gasp on contact
with the outside. Each centre a tiny dark pupil:
the twinkle in the water’s eye. They are one
and many, a ropy strand. A clutching of pearls
in the shadows under the green glass surface.
(Thinking back, it is not certain if she learned
collectivity or independence here. Was this working
together in the face of adversity, or making sure
you were the one that survived? One could read it
either way, depending on one’s mood.)
Transcript
I: When did you decide?
F: I didn’t. For as long as I can remember, I
think, even as a child, I felt like one. You know
what your gift is sometimes. You’re just born
with it. It came very naturally.
I: You just knew?
F: Yes I knew…I just knew. Of course, things
changed. They usually change. Change is one
of the only things you count on, I guess.
Change, and death.
Birth (Likelier)
It is also possible she was formed out of mud.
Solidifying from the wet earth and returning
again, formed then smelted. Cast and opened
fully-formed, instead of the many tiny
transitions of a lengthy metamorphosis.
The Greeks came up with this one: frogs were
fertility and resurrection both. Connected with
growing babies (both sharing small curled legs
and strange bodies). She has been recognized,
1
Barbara G. Walker, The Woman’s Encyclopedia of
Myths and Secrets (New York: Harper and Row, 1983).
acclaimed totem of witches and midwives.1
Was she measured by the company she kept?
In this story, her body formed from tiny grains
of sand. Of clay, tempered by the heat. This
story seems especially true on days when she
feels hollow and ornamented. A mouthful of
minty microplastic diamonds straining at her
jaw (gagging). Cast, not grown: her individual
parts melting together to form a smooth skin, a
solid self.
How many of us get the chance to be actualized
instantly? Other lives are an unending
trajectory of tiny transformations. Of becoming
without ever arriving.
Turning Point: Land
It is not possible to overstate the importance of
her leaving the water for the first time.
In short order she grew from a small comma
(gills and a flick of tail) and crawled up out of it.
Even though one is forced by circumstance to
inevitably leap, it is nonetheless life-changing.
Her journal around this time speaks about
crouching on pile of dark stacked coins and
looking back into where she came from. The
different perspective gained from being
outside: she felt the air on her skin and started
catching bugs. Yet she still knew the context of
the water. A comfortable outsider, there. No
longer a part, but still understanding. It is not
possible to overstate the importance of this, the
new perspective this brought her. Inside, out.
The Depth of Her Feelings
In her teenage photos, she looks defiant. Her
brow furrowed and lips held tense. She has a
right to be. All of her boundaries were crossed
ones. Home invasion, family stolen, poisoned,
skin burned from acid (rain): she was sensitive
on land and in water. Her sensitivity never
negated her strength.
How important rage is! Its rasp like a match in
the hollow of her croaking throat.
On Bad Days
She sat in the sun on non-slip rubber pads (the
kind lining suburban dish cupboards) hoping
for dinner to come by. It was only that her
heart weighed her down.
Turning Point 2: Companions
Sometimes we are lucky enough to meet those
with whom we are truly compatible. Held
decoratively together in an arranged cluster
like a bouquet, both Frog and Garlic were
knobbled beings. Identification with one
another, “clicking,” is an unpredictable lining
up. As the former was an acclaimed totem of
witches and midwives, the latter protection
against such beasts (as efficacious as a crucifix
if not more so), one might consider them
unlikely comrades.
When garlic is crushed, it produces allicin.
Allicin is a natural defence against bugs and
fungi and infections. Perhaps they found in
each other a sensitivity, and a resilience.
Frogs are tight beings. Not just amphibian, but
also fastener. A closeness, a closure. It is not
entirely clear why, but it is also the name for an
elegantly decorative piece of satin cord. A
circlet outstretched with a knot to fill it. Knot is
also the name for a group of frogs. (Someone
probably came up with these uncalled for
collective nouns in the Victorian era, and
nobody actually uses them now except in
dreadful twee lists, online. Did you know?)
Dissection
The careful unpacking and analysis in order to
understand. A criticism, of sorts. The cut in the
stomach, peeling back. Look: here they are, all of
my insides. When she was weary of hiding: she
opened her own chest, it was she who bared
squeezing stomach and thudding heart and
dripping organs for all to see. She refused not
to leak anymore.
This happened concurrently with being tired
of dissecting. She started to trust her gut (you
can see it curling there). She told herself
emphatically: you know, you know, you know.
2 3
Julianna Spahr, Response (Los Angeles: Sun and
Moon, 1996), 30.
Hot Water
On this point it is worth considering her act of
opening in relation to poet Juliana Spahr’s
poem thrashing seems crazy:
“there are things people can do to themselves
they are:
leave molotov cocktail on own yard
set fire to own house
leave a glass of urine on own porch
leave envelope of feces outside own door
send a butcher knife to self at work
send letter to health department that self is
spreading v.d.
stab own back”2
Sianne Ngai writes about this poem as
indicating a fear of unintended collusion with a
system one is a part of.3 There is that related
story about frogs that she could never shake: a
fable of slowly heating and thermoregulation.
It’s been bad science for years, but it’s an easy
metaphor. This story stands in for creeping
normality, not seeing things getting worse and
worse. Looking back, it is easy to prokect that
she might not have noticed when she left the
water to unintentionally collude with the land.
How much is power like this?
But of course, maybe this is not just bad science
but also a faulty metaphor. A slippery
riverbank. Healthy frogs with functioning
brains (and no doubt metaphoric frogs with
functioning ethical systems) will actually jump
out when the water crosses the line between
hot and too hot. How could she forget first
leaving the water? She gained a new
perspective but remained the same being,
however changed. If we are to consider her
legacy, let us have faith in that.
Something About Metamorphosis
Because the amphibian crosses the threshold
between water and air, one could see it as a
hybrid, stateless. Considering her life, it is
impossible to see this as a hazy transience.
Everything was right there when she needed it
(gills, legs, garlic). She was always herself, no
question of that.
Sianne Ngai, Ugly Feelings (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 2005), 303.