Snakes

for Kathe Izzo I was 6 and I lost my snake. The table shook I can do better than this and shambled to the kitchen to the scene of the crime I was green I put my sneaker down, little shoe I felt the cold metal tap my calf moo and everything began to change. I am 6 turned into lightning wrote on the night At 6, I was feathers scales, I fell into the slime of it, lit You think you are six, it yelled. I am face to face with a frog a woman alone in bed. The square of the window persists. I am 6. The phone rings It’s my sister blamm I dropped a plate. Sorry. Now the clouds slide by afraid, awake my feet are cold but I’m fearless I am 6. Under here with bottle caps and stars adults and low moans, busses slamming on brakes I am 6 the cake is lit it’s round the children sing. I will never return. We are so small. My husband turns his fevered face. I put the medicine down. Click. I am 6. The movie rolls on. Tramping feet, music blaring at the end of the war. I am frightened hold my hand The round face of the woman upstairs, moving the faucets, strips of vegetable slithering down, her reptile child will never return. The telephone rings. It’s me. I’m six.