Beginning, Wide Middle, End
Suddenly I don't mind a snake, or this
snake here, in front of my boat. No thought
of me, her body concentrated, writhing
one long asemic sentence across
the tablet of the river. Lovely. In fact
her skin, from this unterrifying view,
color of wheat, wet clay, is almost folk
art, a pattern of crochet, diamond fused
to diamond, like the story of all story.
Just enough danger in her swivel
to still me, hands rested on oars.
My desire to touch, pluck up, forever hold,
for once, not ruffled, not in the least.
I know, I say to her. Nothing I can keep.
Michelle Hendrixson-Miller lives in Columbia, Tennessee. She is currently an MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte where she served as Poetry Editor for Qu Literary Magazine. Her poems have appeared most recently in One, Adirondack Review, Mainstreet Rag, and Poem.
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