Poetry | Journal

I’m
walking
through a dark, dark forest.
There are diamond back snakes
in the trees.
Their sleuthing
bodies
carousel the branches;
I can feel a
hundred
rattled eyes
following me.
I’m pushing
through a narrow,
narrow alley.
Skin
brushing stone
wet with dew,
like thumb prints,
their mucus, clings
to bare shoulders
as I crouch
and squeeze
through the room.
I’m moving through
a silent,
silent
valley,
with the wind
pirouetting my throat.
Gracefully
embracing
my chest with
fouetté—suddenly
she exeunt.