AGKISTRODON

JESSICA SWANSON

there is a lake that fills with fire (as lakes so often do)

where gnats cloud and heat rolls in oppressive spirals

where i wait on the shore until my legs give out

the water is serene and still—

a newly tempered mirror,

stained glass on the edge of shatter

in the first days of war

there are no gods here

anymore

still, i offer praise

praise to the dragonflies skittering along the marshy edge

and praise to the fish who swarm to devour them

praise for the beasts with milky eyes who sleep inches from my feet

with broad heads and plated crowns—a monarchy of short fangs in pale mouths

praise to you, deserters of eden, who seek warmth even now

you, the color of a barren land: red clay and mildew-slick leaves

earth after the angels cast us out, praise

praise to the start, its close,

and praise for the long between

praise to those who sleep in the recline of affection,

exposing their softest, most vulnerable parts:

“here, i welcome my doom.”

praise for the stomach-sleeper, too

praise to the one who strokes the nape of your neck and whispers treasonous things

and praise to the one who lovingly, deliberately tangles around your legs

and whispers of an imminent downfall between heavy gasps

praise to the one who lights the match

and praise to the ones who charge headlong

praise to the bold and praise to the fearful

praise to the heavy solace of a losing battle

may the water soothe your feet

Jessica Swanson (she/her) is a librarian and a writer from Florida. She has a fondness for cats, cheese, and hot tea. Her work has appeared in Voidspace Zine, Hearth & Coffin Literary Journal, and others. Follow her on X (Twitter) at Cooljazsheepie or Instagram at everystupidstar.