POEMS/ On Emily Dickinson's Narrow Fellow
On Emily Dickinson’s Narrow Fellow
I’ve seen him. He lives beneath
the granite wall that lines my garden
and basks along the stones
when sunlight heats them to a temperature he likes.
To herpetologists he’s known
as Thamnophis Sirtalis, serpent of the bush
though he prefers the garden where he can dine
on earthworms, frogs and toads.
I nearly step upon his slender body. Three feet
of black and yellow stripes upon my garden steps,
forked tongue flitting in and out when I appear,
he slithers quickly back beneath the stone.
I understand that he is harmless,
has no venom, yet seeing him—
I feel a sharp and sudden
bite of fear. Remembering God’s curse
on him in that first garden where we fell,
I share the chill the poet felt that day
her “zero at the bone”—and know
her tighter breathing as my own.
From All Roads Go Where They Will, 2010
I’ve seen him. He lives beneath
the granite wall that lines my garden
and basks along the stones
when sunlight heats them to a temperature he likes.
To herpetologists he’s known
as Thamnophis Sirtalis, serpent of the bush
though he prefers the garden where he can dine
on earthworms, frogs and toads.
I nearly step upon his slender body. Three feet
of black and yellow stripes upon my garden steps,
forked tongue flitting in and out when I appear,
he slithers quickly back beneath the stone.
I understand that he is harmless,
has no venom, yet seeing him—
I feel a sharp and sudden
bite of fear. Remembering God’s curse
on him in that first garden where we fell,
I share the chill the poet felt that day
her “zero at the bone”—and know
her tighter breathing as my own.
From All Roads Go Where They Will, 2010
