When I Was Laura Palmer

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I coiled low in the moss, my sleek back striped with two yellow stripes, my forked tongue flicked your load bearing ache, that is what happens when you are born with your legs fused together, agile in the water, agile in the slippery grass, agile in the missionary position, but high centered on the traffic bump, high centered on the knife, high centered within the shipping container, that is what happens when your eyes are fog lights sweeping the sweet grass on the promontory, sweeping the sword ferns, the tasty beetles, the bitter slugs. I could pull the entire forest between my jaws.