HOME / poem: A weekly poem, read by the author.

Casting

They found a young snake nested
in its first casting, nested in a pouch of cast-off
bark against a white birch tree. It was black
and had a narrow ring of brass
around its neck. She held its throat
and it held her by the wrist like a vine
around a young branch.
She raised it level to their eyes and they watched
how the inner lids spread like milk
over the brilliant eye-seeds. The lower jaw
dropped, flexed, and the yellow-tinged,
delicate hinges unhooked like
purse clasps. The inside of its mouth was freshly pink,
like a girl's when she opens to you, and the sun
shines through her cheek.

Print This ArticlePRINTEmail to a FriendE-MAILShare This ArticleRECOMMEND...Get Slate RSS FeedsRSS
Karen Holmberg was a recipient of the 1996 Discovery/The Nation Award. Her poems have appeared in The Nation, Gulf Coast, Bomb, and Paris Review. She won the Vassar Miller Prize in poetry, and her collection, The Perseids, will be published in February 2001.
What did you think of this article?
Join The Fray: Our Reader Discussion Forum
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES
The joy of drinking.TODAY'S PICTURES: The joy of drinking.
Cartoonists' take on education.TODAY'S CARTOONS: Cartoonists' take on education.
Hard times in Berzerkistan.TODAY'S DOONESBURY: Hard times in Berzerkistan.
Washington Post
The Washington Post
OPINIONS
Regret-Me-Not
Eugene Robinson | President Bush tries to rewrite history.
Telnaes: With His Head Held HighGerson: Absence of Failure