Well, you'd expect to see rats in the rails, but one day it was all frogs
/K Dulai
You know, I was transporting twenty pounds of chicken. I was strong enough. I picked them up,
freshly cut and packed, from 103rd and Broadway. My school subway pass could take me pretty
much anywhere in the city, so my mom had me pick up the chickens on my way home from
school in Chelsea. They were on sale real cheap, so we had to stock up. Mom made room in the
freezer which involved my dad finishing off a whole lot of Breyer’s butter pecan. He didn’t care
even though it was practically freezer burnt.
Anyhow, the frogs were vibrant, leaping over each other and over the rail trash. Leapfrog, you
know. I started to worry.
Being fourteen and a girl, there were already some men looking my way. I went for it.
“Look down there,” I said. “Do you think we can save them?” At first, the men thought I was
trying to save some rats, but they realized soon enough. The frogs were beautiful–all kinds of
tropical colors. Still, no one was about to climb down there and save them and I had the chickens
to tend to, you know?
Well, as it turned out, the frogs had more leap in them than I gave them credit for. Soon, feeling
the vibrations of the upcoming 9 train, they all jumped up to the subway platform. Hippity hop,
they didn’t trifle with the lascivious men. They just banded together and lifted me and the
chickens up the staircase and onto the street.
I didn’t have a bus pass and I had spent all my money on the poultry, so I started to panic about
getting home.
“Girl,” the frogs all croaked in unison. “You know we wouldn’t just leave you here! You’re
coming with us or we’re going with you, however you want to put it.”
So, they hopped me and the chickens right up to my building on 111th Street, then made their
way along the mica schist wall on 110th, down to Riverside Park and the Hudson after they bid
me adieu.
I don’t know how they made out. I never saw them again, but I’ll tell you one thing–you know
how they say frogs’ legs taste just like chicken? Me, I'm never finding out.
Author’s Statement:
I wrote this piece with feedback and edits by the amazingly generous and talented poet, Jose Hernandez Diaz, in his Surreal/Strange Generative Workshop. The piece centers on memories of growing up using public transportation in my hometown of New York City and of the often perilous journey from the grocery store to home as a teenage girl.
Bio: K Dulai works in nonprofit in the Bay Area of California. She was an Emerging Arts Professionals San Francisco Fellow in 2024. Her work has appeared in Scarlet (Jaded Ibis Press), So to Speak, trampset, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Pretty Owl Poetry, Drunk Monkeys, The Eastern Iowa Review, and other publications. She is a 2022/2023 Vona Alum and can be found on IG as @kjdulai.
