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.