Re Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward, Angel.
Illustration by Ella Corder.
In Spring Like Torpid Snakes My Enemies Awaken
How do birds know to bathe in Spring?
The same way a mailman knows how to approach a front door so confidently.
I wander down the line slurping angelhair worms, dying for no reason.
Snake kisses me without consent.
I aim to strike him with my heel, but there is only the trail of pink gums and strawberries.
How do birds know to bathe? In Spring
I find him once more; he slides juicy down my scarlet throat.
He coils himself in stacked green onion-rings in my stomach; balanced now must
I wander down the line. Slurping angelhair worms dying for no reason,
Snake and I come to terms. I’m told to breathe slowly and ground myself,
burrow breast-deep in soil, let birds preen my eyes and rabbits gallop on my chest.
How do birds know? To bathe in Spring
is solace, but solace slips like a spaghetti strap off a shoulder.
I used to eat well and drive. I also used to not believe in prescription drugs.
I wander down the line slurping angelhair worms, dying. For no reason
in particular, Snake surfaces for fresh air, circles my neck and gives me a real Southern hug.
Sky turns salmon; cardinals become puddles of menstrual blood.
How do birds know to bathe in Spring?
I wander down the line, slurping angelhair. Worms dying for no reason.
