Paths through the forest by my house, the branches
above us teeter on joints weakened by winter
wind, warmed by spring sun. There, beneath
a pile of leftover fall leaves, they are awakening
snaking from underground, hidden
in their burrow. The dog barks, fur
weightless on her back, shouts at innocent
autumn leaves that serve
to make the early spring three seasons
in one. Then they emerge in coils of
black and stripes of yellow, basking in
the sunlight that slips through the new canopy
above. Moving fast, I pull the dog away, bend down
to take slick skin just behind the head, clutched
in slowly freezing fingers, gloves gripped between my teeth,
their tongues taste the air, tails propelling them nowhere.
I stroke their necks behind invisible
ears, then watch them snaking away
and wish to join them, to feel
the sun on fresh scales and shake
the winter from nostrils still exhaling
cold.
Adelaide Gifford is a senior at Hamilton College in New York, majoring in Creative Writing and double-minoring in Hispanic Studies and Environmental Studies. Her favorite genre to write is a mixture of nature writing and fantasy, with a bit of magical realism thrown in, and her favorite authors include Richard Powers, Harper Lee, Billy Collins, and Brandon Mull. She has previously published a short story, “Bullfight,” in the 2023-2024 issue of Sucarnochee Review. She is very excited to share her poetry here, as well!
