The first was
little and apple
green
I beamed to see it,
as it coiled around
my fingers
neat
playful:
my friendly
Messenger
with a pink fork
and a smile.
But then,
the next night,
another came
(I was ready for bigger
leagues?)
a wider face,
not mean,
but I was
trapped in sand
up to my waist
and I was
afraid
that it moved
beneath me.
No cute coils,
but a waxy
olive head
with penetrating
eyes
like it knew me.
And the sand was
trapping
as I felt it move
and heave.
Dusk was falling
and my hips
wouldn’t budge.
I wanted to
befriend it too,
but it felt so big
and all I could do
was kick my feet.
Then,
as though
the decision
was made for me,
I coughed
and scales
and a head
fell out
of my mouth
dry
olive green
and the thing
was dead.
I grieved,
I grieved,
I had done it
all wrong
I feared too much:
the crust of
skin
lay in the
brittle sand,
as the sky turned purple.
I just didn’t know how to be,
friend
or pupil;
I couldn’t sink into
surrender,
celebrating
the mystery
by the shores
of the sea.