Fear Of Snakes

By Lorna Crozier

The snake can separate itself

from its shadow, move on ribbons of light,

taste the air, the morning and the evening,

the darkness at the heart of things. I remember

when my fear of snakes left for good,

it fell behind me like an old skin. In Swift Current

the boys found a huge snake and chased me

down the alleys, Larry Moen carrying it like a green torch,

the others yelling, Drop it down her back, my terror

of its sliding in the runnel of my spine (Larry,

the one who touched the inside of my legs on the swing,

an older boy we knew we shouldn’t get close to

with our little dresses, our soft skin), my brother

saying Let her go, and I crouched behind the caraganas,

watched Larry nail the snake to a telephone pole.

It twisted on twin points of light, unable to crawl

out of its pain, its mouth opening, the red

tongue tasting its own terror, I loved it then,

that snake. The boys standing there with their stupid hands

dangling from their wrists, the beautiful green

mouth opening, a terrible dark O

no one could hear.

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