Poetry

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Snake soup

November 26, 2001
The Iranian

We're having snake soup for dinner tonight.

It lived in my garden for months until I caught the tail of courage,

went out there with a shovel

and bashed it to death.

"Look!" said the child with big brown eyes.

"Why is she hitting that rope?"

Because I dreamt it was a garden hose,

spewing roses to paint the sky,

putting out fires with butterflies.

To think I had almost hung myself,

a fool dangling from Adam's tree,

an Eve, a simple Eve.

We're having snake soup for dinner tonight,

though for weeks it's been broth of stone:

granite, gravel, your shoe pebble,

the glowing jewel of my heart...

there's no end to the tale this woman can cook.

We're having snake soup for dinner tonight,

but it tastes like old rope

the cat peed on.

Comment for The Iranian letters section Comment for poet Zara Houshmand