Angie Macri

not an answer. She leaned into the apple tree, which then was evergreen, to the snake’s hands, sweet flesh, no need to be ashamed. We share and share alike, the peel not loose like night on day, but tight. She took the snake’s hands, diamondbacked, and opened its question. It was the first time she had something to give, what the man couldn’t take, the first time the man said please: please let me have a bite. He found the iron ore and brought it home. He found the coal under the forest and lit it on fire to watch it go so the snake couldn’t catch her if she fell and she couldn’t hold anything but its tongue. Never let the fire go out or else, he warned, and she held on.