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“I am not alone,” the woh the wood “No one will let me alone…”

THE TALE

OF THE LEAF

AND THE SNAKE

I LOOKED DOWN OUT OF THE DARK, WHERE light held hands with light I re step out of the Sky, how it hurt so, and how I cried out for reen, ht, slashed to ribbons, bleeding out of the pits of my knees, the hollows of my elbows, the nape of my neck—all the places where a hole can tear I bled and I e all did We wanted to burrow into the world, but we didn’t knoould hurt

And the snakes were there, their green and their white and their black, their red and their gold Their sheltering hoods, their co tails I looked at them, how they stopped up my wounds with their little mouths, how they warmed me with skin that had baked on flat rocks in the sun, how they hissed and sang their whispering songs I looked at them and I wanted to be like that, I wanted to be able toand have colors like that They were as beautiful tohad been since the dark, and while thened, and stretched, and arched reen and grinning And where I first slithered, stepping lightly into a snake’s body, I crushed beneath ht nounderfoot while running through a forest

I was not there when the Manikarnika died, but I heard them cry out We all did I slid over the hills and aith the rest—I did not want to be alone So hted, shivered into their own We cloistered together, we ate sparrows andOur shapes changed with the hour; ere fluid as rivers We were not alone

I knew his face when he came Of course I knew it Even a Star drealittering cord of that man’s life spool out until it intersected with rass at oing to hurt each other But Stars, you know, are fixed in their courses, and we can nopaces of orbit than a rabbit can shorten its ears I saw his cord lashing and snapping in the dark, and could do nothing

Ato die

I sat inwith toy swords and real ones, depending on their age, lolling about, their skins flushed green with relief—their father had left us alone for a day, and we could relax into serpents, let our scales show through We had each other, and no one would disturb us

I sat at theThe wind caes My son was hters played Chaturanga, their shoulders warm as diamondbacks in the sun Soht thery We were not alone, not ever I wiped the youngest’s nose, and told her to keep her tongue in herlicked in and out feverishly These are the things a mother does—did not the Sky once wipe our noses and tell us to stand up straight, did not the blackness of our mother admonish us to raise our voices and be curious, be bold, to look after one another when curiosity and boldness failed? Did she not tell us she loved us, that ere never alone?

In the dark at the beginning of the world, she said those things And I said theh the words often stuck in my mouth, and I did not expect to say them, when I burned incandescent besidecord, that htened woht leeched, and leeched, and leeched I did not want children They were a poor substitute for what I lost—did the Sky feel the same? Is that why she left us? But I looked at them that day and knew that they came froht, so bright! And they are why I did not leave Perhaps I do not understand my mother—but I think that is not unusual

I sat by theand reen as vines on the sill The er, nailless now and scaled His wings were pale broith circles like marks left by cups on old wooden tables He was not special Perhaps neither was I I wore him for a moment like a jewel before he turned his furry head up to ainst dry leaves

“If you will not eat ”

“Why would I eat you, little moth?”