Robin Coste Lewis

Summer

Last summer, two discrete young snakes left their skin

on my small porch, two mornings in a row. Being

 

postmodern now, I pretended as if I did not see

them, nor understand what I knew to be circling

 

inside me. Instead, every hour I told my son

to stop with his incessant back-chat. I peeled

 

a banana. And cursed God—His arrogance,

His gall—to still expect our devotion

 

after creating love. And mosquitoes. I showed

my son the papery dead skins so he could

 

know, too, what it feels like when something shows up

at your door—twice—telling you what you already know.

 

Robin Coste Lewis, “Summer” from Voyage of the Sable Venus. Copyright © 2015 by Robin Coste Lewis. Source: Voyage of the Sable Venus (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015)

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s