a rattler come sliding through the grass
slow as digestion.

I stamped the dirt—
but you know effort in a dream is

like kicking cotton— it kept coming
then coiled around my feet,

up inside my leg, scales rippled
inside my ribs, its slack spine became mine

and swallowed my heart
in its unlocked jaws,

ran its tongue like a
sickle across my teeth.

Then, in the cool of the eve,
I felt in my coils the
stamping of feet, heavy in my chest.

At the bootheel, I rattled ancient curses
my tongue had never known.

How will the snake’s head be crushed
which is buried in my skull?

Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash