He had a picture of me 
on his work desk. A boa 
constrictor wrapped around 
my neck. He’d say,
“She wasn’t even scared.” 

His framed pride
didn’t match my fear, 
so I pretended.

Not a snake charmer, 
I learned to drink venom.
Walk through glass. Palms
up, always. Let me prove 
how good I am, like sweet
orange trees. Climb. Take
cover beneath my limbs, 
I’ll take all the blame. Sorry
for the storm, for freezing
pomegranate hearts. Orphan
without warmth—I know. 

Look, watch me spin so
bright. Sing to the moon. 
Ride through a rice field, kick
dust onto the snow-white
cranes. See me create starlight
babies with magical breath—
lean in. Smell them. 
Part me. 
Part you. 
Us.

Branches. You see?
Beautiful are the buds
bearing your blue eyes.

Maybe you had to move
away. Once, no twice.
You needed to be further
from this mess; this me.

Further and further.
I see.

Neck, boa, constrict—
my words press like sap
pushing through bark.
Not fearless, but what
will too late feel
like when words sit stuck
inside. No, say it all. Look,
do you see? “She wasn’t even

scared.”