Thirteen

With a creak from the carved door,
I padded in the doorway, preoccupied
with the homework I had to do.
Then I walked down the stairs to
talk to my dad and
there was a snkae on the stair. I was thirteen.

It was a little longer than the span
of my hand, a ribbon of fright
twisting, trying to slither away
as I gently let it fall off the
stair into a shoebox. I was thirteen.

I watched it, mesmerized by its
slender green beauty, arching and
straining to scale the walls of
its cardboard prison. It eyed
me with fearful, defensive agitation. I was thirteen.

Thinking of the restraints of
having no limbs, to be trapped in
a containment, just that much taller
than you can stretch, I stared
at the tiny, tired serpent. I was thirteen.

I watched it leap without legs
from its containment, never
looking back at its captor,
free int he tall grass forest it had
strayed so far from. I was still thirteen.