Snake Lore
- Snake Lore
I was raised to know the devilwhen I see him. His red mouth loose
and rage-drunk, shouting, laughing.He plays like he’s not angry, not
at me. Tonight he findshis way into my bedroom.
His skin as wet as snakeskinup against me. Sweet venom
like turpentine he breathes. Saysaren’t we having fun?
But he’s not asking. His eyes flatyellow pennies, cheap
metal things. There’s no one hereto eat the fruit besides me.
The cherry of his cigaretteexhausting. The stars watch
but they don’t watch over me.When I bite, there’s blood, the same
as when he bites me.I was raised to know the devil [End Page 42]
when I see him. The night is lonely,it won’t let me sleep. [End Page 43]
JANE MORTON is a poet based in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where they recently received their MFA from the University of Alabama. Their poems have been published or are forthcoming in Boulevard, Passages North, Poetry Northwest, The Offing, BOOTH, Muzzle Magazine, Redivider, and The Rupture, among other journals. They have received a Fulbright Fellowship and a Katharine Bakeless Nason scholarship from the Bread Loaf Environmental Writers’ Conference.
I’ve always felt that fairy tales, like dreams, can show us things we know but hide from. Growing up, my favorite fairy tale was “The Velvet Ribbon.” I remember truly believing it when—against her wishes—the girl’s ribbon was removed and she died. I still believe it. Now, I often use fairy tales to tell a truth that I don’t know how to tell—even to myself.
