You can call me: anuran, moist with semi-
permeable skin. Peptides growing on me like bees.
I was once-tadpole: water-breath, tailed, morphing
from frogspawn to child straight into fresh streams.
Here, see my hind-limbs longer than my fore,
my Triassic histories more ancient than ecosystems.
We were here before you. I am sister to salamander.
I am sister to newt. Caecilians are my brothers:
fossorial cylindrical serpent-bodied mysteries.
See my man carrying a diaphanous vocal-sac,
florescent, burgeoning. Hear his old croak-song:
long & pelvic. See a torrential amplexus after
another. See all of these wet ghats in the rain.
Before the lust of your colonization: came mine.
Kunjana Parashar lives in Mumbai. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in SWWIM Every Day, MORIA, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Columba, 45th Parallel, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter @wolfwasp.