Cottonmouth
I didn’t know the cottonmouths migrate
to swim down this cliff river. The winds
tumble restless through yellow aspens,
and the clouds ripen apricot across the sky.
I sit on the bank, my toes touch iris blue
water, wondering what it will be like,
all of it, when the snakes come swimming
downstream like kite-tails racing the banks.
They dive like seals, skim like skipped stones.
Their shadows change and erupt. Cross-banded
backs skirt the depths in twisting lunges, as if
water themselves. They coil and uncoil, wrestle
currents. They disappear as swiftly into the dark,
as all the answers I thought I wanted to have.
to swim down this cliff river. The winds
tumble restless through yellow aspens,
and the clouds ripen apricot across the sky.
I sit on the bank, my toes touch iris blue
water, wondering what it will be like,
all of it, when the snakes come swimming
downstream like kite-tails racing the banks.
They dive like seals, skim like skipped stones.
Their shadows change and erupt. Cross-banded
backs skirt the depths in twisting lunges, as if
water themselves. They coil and uncoil, wrestle
currents. They disappear as swiftly into the dark,
as all the answers I thought I wanted to have.
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Lynn FingerLynn Finger’s writings have appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Book of Matches, Fairy Piece, Drunk Monkeys, and ONE ART: A journal of poetry, among others. Lynn also has a poetry chapbook released, The Truth of Blue Horses, published by Alien Buddha Press. She was nominated for 2021 and 2022 Best of the Net Anthology, and she edits Harpy Hybrid Review.
Twitter // @sweetfirefly2 |