Are There Lizards in Your Family Tree?
Do you scuttle lithely sand and stone,
peek out from rocks through half-shut lids
while others’ hands are clasped in dance
beneath the bone-white crescent slit?
Are your eyes autonomous,
right darts to lips and left to toes;
as softer flesh sips steamed orgeat
do you watch the spoon, the ankles cross?
Do you begin each day with push-ups
then shield yourself from sun in shade;
when threatened do your muscles flex,
your speech reduce to a chortling hiss?
Do others comment, How cold your hands,
How dry your skin—do you dream of
grasshoppers sweet in your mouth, or
screaming wake from the jaws of a snake?
Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.
