A SELECTED POEM FROM PREVIOUS WRITING RON THOMAS WRITER
GRANDMOTHERS DAUGHTERS AND SNAKES Ron Thomas Writer
On my back on the floor. On a heating pad on my back on the floor. My back is sore. My back is sore and my body is divided into two countries. The heating pad divides north and south. The warm heating pad is the equator between the north and south of my body. I stare up from the north. From the north I stare up through a window at the cataract fog in the sky. I try to see the dead. I often try to see the dead in the sky. They never show up. They never show up but I think of them. Ron Thomas Writer Today I think of my grandmother. My Italian grandmother. My Italian grandmother trying to scare my brother and me. Scare us with stories of snakes, she pronounced sneks. How sneks could crawl into a little child’s room at night. Snakes never scared me. My Italian grandmother scared me. The untamed tangle of her hair. The antennas of her eyes. Curled lower lip. The way she hissed when she said sneks. Ron Thomas Writer My daughter does not fear her grandmother. My daughter feared snakes. I bought her a locket. A Tibetan locket. She put dried snake skin in the locket. She put dried snake skin in the locket and wore it around her neck. Like Joan of Arc. Like Joan of Arc in her armor my daughter wore the locket around her neck. Brave like Joan of Arc. She lost her fear of the python. The cobra. The deadly fer de lance. The fer de lance haunts the heating pad of the equator. Haunts the equator at night. The deadly fer de lance has been known to crawl into a little child’s room. Anti-venom is a good grandmother in Costa Rica. Ron Thomas Writer In the good grandmother country of Costa Rica I drove a red Izusu. A red Izusu with bald tires. Bald tires and no lug wrench. Bald tires and no lug wrench in the good grandmother land of the deadly fer de lance. A serpentarium. A serpentarium in the middle of nowhere. I stopped the car. Stopped the car and pulled the brake. I must see the fer de lance. My wife made a face. I’ll wait in the car. Ron Thomas Writer The serpentarium was empty. Empty except for the snakes. Except for the snakes and one old woman. One old woman with hooded eyes. Hooded eyes and tangled coils of wire gray hair. Fer de lance, por favor. She held out a well-traveled hand. A hand lined with brown humid pathways. I paid her four dollars American. Four dollars American to see the fer de lance. She pointed a crooked finger. A glass cage along the wall. The snake was asleep. Asleep and waiting for darkness. I ticked the glass with my finger nails. I ticked the glass and the old woman raised the lids of her hooded eyes. I ticked the glass but the snake stayed asleep. Asleep and reveling. Reveling in venomous dreams. Six foot dreams. Brown six foot dreams with light stripes and dark diamond markings. Ron Thomas Writer I left the old woman. The old woman and her snakes. I wondered about her grandchildren. Were they brave like Joan of Arc? Or were they afraid? Afraid of her stories? Afraid of her stories and well-traveled hands? The sky is clear through my window. The sky is clear. I think I see my grandmother. She is opening a blue pomegranate. Seeds of sunlight sift through her fingers. Her lip is not curled. She looks down with eyes soft as moonlight. She looks down on the children. Children in armor. Children in armor walking tall. Tall and brave among the snakes of the world. Ron Thomas Writer |
Ron Thomas Writer