the shuffle of a circled wind,
dance in a past touched not touched
dance in a past touched not touched
youth was a sleeping snake,
head tucked under my body
head tucked under my body
I sought warmth where I could
but was born in a home resting
but was born in a home resting
along a knife’s blade –
this family –
this family –
there is darkness always darkness
so much we wish for lightning
blindness of light
like a photo taken late at night
like a photo taken late at night
the outline of us an unreachable thing
until the spark reveals some truth
until the spark reveals some truth
*
I walked through a library once
waiting for a book to call me
waiting for a book to call me
when a man from the zoo brought a yellow snake
with him, offering her
with him, offering her
to me
I could not
I could not
her skin touching mine
would mesh
would mesh
I thought he turned away
to present her to another
to present her to another
and the snake’s tail brushed my arm.
Like a spring, coldness rolled through me.
Like a spring, coldness rolled through me.
*
I carry my father within me – a cup near overflowing,
liquid pushed into a curve at the lip.
liquid pushed into a curve at the lip.
I have learned to balance this surface tension.
There is no other choice.
There is no other choice.
How else to always have a response
when his conversations wander.
when his conversations wander.
He has called my mother again,
five or six times,
five or six times,
leaves a message about needing a psychiatrist,
and asks that I please call him.
and asks that I please call him.
I know him better than most,
know how to keep him from tipping over,
know how to keep him from tipping over,
his mind a nest of shed snake skin
and dry branches
and dry branches
his life a flood of rains
promising so much damage.
promising so much damage.
*
If I can manage to stay warm
to keep soft, pliable
to keep soft, pliable
after all of this
nothing can undo me
nothing can undo me
even this inherited skin
radiates like summer sun,
radiates like summer sun,
iron-rich and gooey,
impossible brightness
impossible brightness
striking away
at the darkness.
at the darkness.
Jo Reyes Boitel is a poet, playwright, essayist, arts activist, rabid music listener, researcher, percussionist, and Texas transplant by way of Minnesota, Florida, Mexico, and Cuba.
