A Narrow Passage

Author’s photo

There are snakes in my larynx,
forked tongues flash between my lips,
venom burns my esophagus.

Outside, February wind howls
whipping snow into window screens.
How is there so much air and yet

I am breathless? Why
do I choke on bitterness
while sipping chamomile tea?

In another world, it’s June–
I’m lying in soft grass and violets,
I’ve wretched until the snakes

fled across the yard,
slithered beneath spiderwort.
I am sucking on sunlight

like a lozenge, soothing
the soft lining, the thin wall
between this moment

and endless possibility.