In the circus
town, under
the obelisk’s eye,
on a heraldic block,
in a converted brownstone,
that once, for a period of time,
housed junkies and sluts,
but grew quite hot,
lived a girl and her
Burmese python.
Honor was young,
still too short
for elite pre-K
and Kash snacked
on frozen mice and rats.
They’d pass their days in the garden
under sculptured trees,
playing parcheesi and drinking tea
but Kash had no arms,
so Honor did most of the lifting.
Every night, swaddled in princess
sheets, Mom would kiss the top
of her snake charmer’s head,
as the two coiled in the teensy
canopy bed. But one day, Honor
woke and eye-spied her side-kick
straight alongside her––
lying rigid and flat. She tried
to pull him close but his little
noose head tautly pulled back.
She dragged him down the refurbished stairs,
gripping the imported glass railing
(that the designer said would streamline the space)
to the stomach of the house. In a teacup she warmed
her soulmate’s mouse, scurried to the wine fridge to fetch
a rat that she’d stowed behind mom’s sauvignon blanc,
scampered to the pantry to get the snake sausage (that they buy
because parents are squeamish) but Kash hissed, rejected all. After a week
of Kash’s fast the family took to Yelp to find a snake specialist––best in the city.
As parents searched and searched, Honor sprawled all her limbs on the wide grey floor:
My best friend is STARVING to death! Just then mom found the perfect vet…
Her office was off Dupont next to the it place where beltway beatniks
sipped matcha and furiously blogged. Despite Kash’s diet
he’d outgrown his box, so the family waited in the delivery
window of Kash’s new house from Amazon Now.
When the 50 quart cooler arrived, Honor tested
it out: she wound herself in tight, closed the lid,
Kash will fit! So Dad stashed the snake
and they scrambled into the Benz. Crowded
in the exam room, designed for most Washington
animals, Honor told the Lady Vet,
Kash stopped eating and cuddling with me!
The M.D. pieced it together quick: Snakes
lie flat to measure their prey. He was fasting
to make space but now he’s ready to EAT.
Kash was playing the long game,
preferring smooth, hairless,
pink girl flesh over rodents
and scraps. He’s not a cat.
A different hunger
drove him. Every night,
in their festooned cage,
he rubbed his girth against
her shape, stretched out
his scaly self, insuring he
had room to swallow
Honor, constrict,
subdue, walk
her down. His
sovereign jaw,
muscular throat,
his nature
was made
to destroy
something
larger
than itself.
How could he
leave
that power
untapped?
–
Jessalyn Maguire (she/they) is a writer, artist, and somatic psychedelic facilitator based in L.A. Their work is informed by experiences as a therapist, academic, and plant medicine guide, as well as years as a professional actor and filmmaker. Through their work, Jessalyn explores complex layers of human experience, systems, and consciousness to create a more equitable world. Jessalyn’s poetry has been featured in the HBO Inspiration Room, short-listed for the Fish Poetry Prize, nominated for Best of the Net, and published in december, The Offing, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, Crack the Spine, The Helix Magazine, Mortar Magazine and others.
