Culebra

I have seen many snakes.
Crafty serpents,
spiraling around the cypress tree outside my window.
I see them coil about my sister’s birthday cake,
and slithering in the pavement cracks.
I see tiny snakes
slide down the shower drain.
I see them sidewinding
on the doors of our vacant storage rooms.
Their beady eyes,
constricted slits.
As yellow as my hepatitis.
I see them prey on my open fears;
Gluttonous lumps traveling down the body.
They move in S-shapes,
underneath my divided tongue.
One day, my sixfingered hand
Will take them with an asphyxiated curl.

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