by Holly Day

Every once a while, the black ribbon snakes congregate in my front yard
knit themselves into a writhing mating pile, disgorge thumb-sized stones
disappear back into the knee-high weeds when they’re done. It’s important
to gather these stones as soon as possible or they’ll lose their magic
become bits of indistinguishable broken gravel to trample underfoot.

I have drawers full of these stones, have surrounded my house with
the tiny black rocks that come only from snakes.
They keep the birds out of the chimney
the mice from coming in, the bats from scratching at the window.
I even put one in my pocket every morning before I leave the house
so that the men I encounter know I’m serious when I am.


Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing