the cloistered peace of a nun\u2019s bed\u2014to stretch nights
\non its thin mattress, over its spare metal frame, her cell<\/p>\n
silent and otherwise empty, its bare walls white
\nas chalk\u2014and to sleep my whole life wrapped like<\/p>\n
the body of a slim snake, all muscle and skin, around
\nthe body of another snake? When I was a poor kid,<\/p>\n
a second life glittered, shone and vanished at intervals
\ntoo quick to clutch. What I wanted, what I understood<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t touch. But what was to hand? I put my
\nhand on it, in my narrow bed, afternoons I begged off<\/p>\n
middle school or nights I lay awake, waiting for the house
\nto go quiet, eyes on the fat moon through the window,<\/p>\n
that distant light, and my body lit up, creature just born,
\nit seemed, from beckoning. I had such patience then,<\/p>\n
faith of the supplicant or the nomad in the woods
\n\u2014furred or naked\u2014wanting heat. I\u2019d never seen the face<\/p>\n
of God or yet made fire by rubbing sticks or flanks
\nuntil they spark, but I\u2019d heard tales of clasped or moving<\/p>\n
hands dispelling dark. The gathering ache between
\nmy legs and the lips I\u2019d conjured, kissing mine, made me<\/p>\n
believe I\u2019d have myself and love. But is this why lovers
\nfear we\u2019ll leave? Not Helen ferried to the far shore or Eve<\/p>\n
fed sweetness by some other hand\u2014but hers? It\u2019s true.
\nA woman self-possessed commands a moveable<\/p>\n
feast, and I\u2019m the kind of beast who might live simply,
\ncoming and coming, in my solitary cave. It\u2019s a thing I crave<\/p>\n
and those coiled bodies, too. Want still shimmers, these
\nyears later: to warm my hands on self and, other, you.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
the cloistered peace of a nun\u2019s bed\u2014to stretch nights on its thin mattress, over its spare metal frame, her cell silent and otherwise empty, its bare walls white as chalk\u2014and to sleep my whole life wrapped like the body of a slim snake, all muscle and skin, around the body of another snake? When I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2292,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[81],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-4UT","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18903"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2292"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18903"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18903\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19094,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18903\/revisions\/19094"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18903"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18903"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18903"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}