Muladhara: Watersnake
You can blame it on the asshole uncle
who killed the Northern Watersnake
for no reason, snatching it by the tail
and thrashing her head against a rock.
Kids screamed and cleared the beach
where she whipped into knots by my feet.
Frozen to my towel by a primal panic,
my bathing suit flooded hot with piss.
The snake musked to defend herself —
yellow lacquer smeared across the beach,
so foul it unstuck me. Waist-deep in the lake
I watched her spasm, then slacken on her back.
Slipping underwater, I cursed his rotten hand,
burbled an abjuration spell before he got
the rusted box saw from his truck —
Become a door he cannot shut.
She heard, and left before he stole her
head. Sidewinding through the midday
heat, she stopped above me, reared to
strike but dove instead. Down my spine
she dropped, pooling in the callow bowl
of my 4th-grade hips. For forty years she’s
thrived, apocryphal and true, unspooling
to slough skins grown thin —
her husks collecting along shores of bone,
proof of every rotten fuck, outgrown.
Svadhisthana: Honey Bee
My waggle-dance lands you in my fronds.
After, you stay in bed to read about Lenin.
I take a French shower, swipe lipstick and kohl,
head out for the primal sting of a stiff drink.
Foraging for sweetness, I’ll dance with anyone —
hothouse exotic, houseplant, wildflower, weed.
Slick with sweat, I’ll boogie ‘til ungodly hours
then Uber home, shoulders dusted with gold.
Manipura: Horse
Cathedral of scrubland and sky.
Sagebrush and winterfat,
punch of resin after rain.
Rabbitbrush. Cheatgrass,
cheeky cowgirl swilling whiskey,
burning cigarillos at the bar.
Untacked, 10-gallon hat, can-can
corkscrew in crotchless pantalettes.
All asscheek and brio, knockin’ boots
in the boneyard, mooning the moon.
Anahata: Horseshoe Crab
450 million years old,
more spider than crab,
horseshoes survived
the space rock
that wiped out
the dinosaurs.
$15,000
for a quart
of their blood,
bright blue,
harvested for
amebocytes
used to test vaccines
and intravenous drugs
for the bacteria
that would poison
our bloodstream,
and leave us dead.
*
In my early twenties,
at Thomas Point,
hurling rocks at the sea
while compiling a list
of all the venomous
things I would say,
I spied an M1 helmet,
khaki green, WWII,
barely covered
in sand.
Running, overcome
with good fortune,
I hovered over it,
guessing it’s worth.
Wait. Nope…
Horseshoe crab,
telson
at my toes:
Armor is pointless if there’s
nothing good to protect.
Vishuddha: Skunk
The bitchy nun who told me to pipe down
and cross my legs got sprayed, point blank.
I’m no Virgin Mary, lady. I’m Pepé Le Pew!
Ajna: Hawk
Not the Red-tailed
or Sharp-Shinned,
but the Cooper’s hawk
that whistled over us
to snatch the chick.
We didn’t know
she was up there,
perched above us
on a low-slung
limb of birch,
surveilling
the coop
while we vaped
Baby Yoda
and kvetched
about the domestic —
how it can choke out
light if left unpruned,
turn a sunny glade
into a bitchy thicket.
We’d keep
the shears sharp,
we said, swearing
fealty to our freedom,
when the missile launched
— vector of feather splitting the sky in two.
Off our gourds
and under attack,
we panicked,
ducked & covered,
agonized for
the prosaic.
Sahasrara: Great Blue Heron
Ferme la bouche.
Shut the fuck up.
Stop and listen.
A song on the wind.
Hold still. Wait.
Now — snatch it!
Great Blue Heron spears
Northern Watersnake.
Eats her,
head first.
By tail, snake’s scales
would shred heron’s throat.
Beginnings,
reminds heron,
swallowed
by ends.