Death’s daughter, you are often cross, 

bitter as mustard, sweet when collared… 

-Kevin Young 

Sinuous and slumpy, Snake Girl is smiling.

Snake Girl is sensitive to smell. Her green cells

breathe hyacinth, honeysuckle, heliotrope, hydrangea.

She shimmies through the sickly sweet.

Snake Girl’s summer is sweat.

In winter she grows skins–

Scarves with peacock colors swirl the wind.

Snake Girl sticks to solid surfaces:

rocks, boulders, limestone, granite,

canyons, crevices.  Snake Girl lives on the edge.

Snake Girl swallows her food whole,

spoiling your sleek supper parties.

Snake Girl’s sociability lacks finesse.

Snake Girl rises up before an audience

and swipes your attention.

Her skill in performance is underestimated.

A sighting of Snake Girl is seldom.

Snake Girl has a sense of scale.

Snake Girl is wise.

Snake Girl’s logic is cold and her tongue is sharp.

She can get your money back.

One plus one is one.  Snake eyes.

The kind of hearing Snake Girl has

lies underneath the spoken world.

In darkness Snake Girl never shuts her eyes.

One snowy night you’ll drift to sleep

beneath your 400-thread-count sheets,

you’ll shift on your side and sigh

and feel

the scabrous slide of Snake Girl

gliding up your aching legs

sidling over your wrinkled neck.

Snake Girl will slough off your skin.

Snake Girl will spirit you away.

Snake Girl will summon her specious smile

to bite the tale that feeds you.