Ouroboros I
by Dani Janae
I have yet to meet a snake in South Carolina.
My brother tells me a story of his front yard,
a hole in the ground. His neighbour charges
over, reaches into the hole, and pulls out
a thrashing, venomous serpent. Something
moves in the air between them, something
becomes what it was always meant to be.
⥁
Something becomes what it was always
meant to be. Here, in the garden: movement.
First, I touch myself at the wound, form
a fist around it with my mouth, always going
toward my body, so that I can understand
the certain and cyclical nature of destruction.
Each exhale an execution, the making of a myth.
⥁
Each exhale an execution, the making of a myth,
I turn to narrative and find myself hungry. When
I stopped eating, I first learned the word “deficit”
then I learned patience, the wall of the stomach
hollowed from ache. In the nightmare: my throat
so full, breath cannot release. In the nightmare,
pulling and pulling pieces of myself from the hole.
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Dani Janae is a poet and journalist from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work has been published by Longleaf Review, SWWIM, Palette Poetry, Dust Poetry Magazine, and others. @figwidow on Twitter. @bell.biv.dahoe on Instagram.