Jun 11
snakeskin season
three teaspoons too deep in your soil
i watched you take a bite from winters harvest
a golden fruit, red-freckled like a child
i hand you my teaspoon, asking for a bite
sourness overflows my tongue like a crest
you hold my teaspoon, with caution
as i sprinkle sugar into your cup
that you had no idea you were holding.
a dead snakeskin laid in the space between us
we didn’t know it had a name
but created music from its rattle
tiny, fragile, porous rattle
as its melodies mend all my disdain
you reach for my hand, with caution
as you sprinkle sugar into my cup
that i didn’t let go of holding.
