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: A Zapizdat Poetry Anthology for first publishing this poem.