The Python
By Jacob Anthony Ramírez
His scales are a river hot with nail head rivets
across a Louisiana roof on an August terrace.
He is muscle and motion in coil, his relapse
slow with tail wrapping circling reminding
us of the serpent’s will to choke the living.
I have been told enough myths to bury them
when they burnt my ears with score and singe.
I never notice his climb, only covet the dead.
I am airless as intention, left vile with venoms
bedded in men who cry for (m)others fearing
bullets that bite the necks of the breathless.
I am afraid to breathe for the dead do not dare.
I do not want to row more boys in a garden,
only seed the soil with more flak-skin sons.
Jacob Anthony Ramírez (he/him) is a poet, educator, and visual artist from California. He is a PhD candidate in Creative Writing at the University of Lancaster. His work has been published in several publications, among them, Haymarket Books’ The Breakbeat Poets’ LatiNEXT, The Latino Book Review Magazine, and The Indianapolis Review. He teaches in Sonoma County where he lives with his wife and two children. He is currently at work on his debut collection.