My cousins and I are chasing miniature frogs in the backyard

of our grandfather's house—the frogs are beige like the grass and

approximately the size of our knuckles. The basement at my grandfather's

house has a mildewed carpet the color of mustard and a dog cage with metal

bars. Sometimes my cousins lock me in the dog cage which is big enough

for a golden retriever or a medium-sized child. I am the child but sometimes

I pretend I am the golden retriever. Cages are a puzzle in perception. After

his first wife died, my grandfather decided puzzles would be his hobby.

There is a punching bag strung up in the corner but no one ever

touches it. My grandfather frames his puzzles like prizes.

There are beige marks on my cheek approximately the size

of your knuckles. I am in a field chasing miniature frogs.