Alphabet Series: S
Pamela Murray Winters
The snake that stirs the apple
fixes it to fall,
slick, hard, immutable
Not a rattle, just a repeated ess in its wake—
a slipchain of shushes
a kiss with a snuffed-out eye
a mouth never touching the skin.
No fang on the smooth fruit.
No, it passes into privilege,
sheds its sin like a skin.
fixes it to fall,
Not a rattle, just a repeated ess in its wake—
a slipchain of shushes
a kiss with a snuffed-out eye
a mouth never touching the skin.
No fang on the smooth fruit.
No, it passes into privilege,
sheds its sin like a skin.