Constrictor: Poem by Miriam Sagan

The Constrictor

I sat reading
turning the pages in a quiet room
behind me
a bank of houseplants bloomed
and something else—
intent and beady-eyed—
watched the motion of my hand

“Mir,” you said softly
“Don’t look
behind you, just
get up, and so
don’t ask, just go”

you caught the snake
that had escaped
its glass aquarium
a shimmering boa
with pale blue scales
hueing the rainbow…

at the time
I was annoyed, amused, relieved
you caught it
but also
the problem was yours
in the old apartment
with leaky windows and swollen doors
where once a small wild
garden snake
also set up residence

that was what,
almost forty years ago,
the town has changed
snakes given away
you long dead
and I gone on
to read
other books

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About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well ( The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

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