A Conversation with a Serpent

M. Rather, Jr.

He was a flashing
thing, all black-shine
and shimmering
green shapes, He sighed
The man lies, says
you carry his bones
curling under
your breast. You fell,
like me, through sky
and left a burned
spot on this earth.
You were meant for more
than dirt. The line
of his body
slid through branches,
peeked around leaves
until I stopped
and he said, Why
not eat? It is all
He has taken
from you. He set
you here to be
held by the ground,
to feel the rough
of man’s tongue.
You are more than dirt.
Wait till you know stars.
Why not learn to die?
The water’s flow
reflected off
his mirror-skin,
his eyes rolled
and swirled as he
hung from a branch
and said, Eat, eat,
I know you are
hungry. I have seen
you scratch at bark
to see what is
underneath. Eat.
It is good to die
and to know stars.