I soared beyond her rages and whipping yardsticks.
The grass on the middle lawn was thick like golf courses,
a carpet most plush by the brick fireplace
never mortared never made permanent
the snakes nested there.
Mumma and I sat there and the snakes would come.
“This is how you hold them” her hand steady and direct
her voice unwavering. We would take turns holding the snakes,
look them in the eyes and not be afraid
of their wild beauty.