A sudden hiss on the grass
and there she was – her eyes
plumbing the pit of my fear,
her tongue — like jealousy — licking
the distance between us. My fingers gripped
the hoe’s handle, and a whiz whipped
through the air; then, a thud muted
whatever she wanted to portend; not
even a faint moan seeped
from her mouth. My knees trembled
as my eyes cast a final kiss on her
broken skull.
one morning, manong and i
went to our swidden farm
to pick mushrooms.
“arm yourself with a stick,”
he commanded while demonstrating
how to whip right and left
when walking along grassy trails
to scare off snakes.
“but if by chance we encounter one
just hold your ground, and your guts
will send the snake flying in fright.”
when we reached the first bunch
of bushy bamboos, we saw a tudtud –
a worm-like snake, wiggling
its way around fallen leaves
and tiny blades of grass.
holding my breath,
i stood still at once.
when i looked at manong
he was just as small as a mushroom –
scampering amid the clouds of dust
his bare feet spewed out.
notmytongue.wordpress.com 