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A fine morning, the air was clean,

and we were idle in the day room,

warm from a breakfast of biscuits,

thick butter and strawberry jam.

Beige dishes were washed and sorted,

and we each had glasses of iced tea

made yesterday in a jar in the sun.

What we could gather was gathered,

and it was good, good to be together.

 

And a water moccasin, somehow

eluding our cat, slid out just enough

from behind our couch covered

in watermills and shaded groves.

Behind fake velvet flowers and leaves,

An aspirational purchase from a catalogue,

I could see him, his long gunmetal

tube gliding against the floor’s edges,

altering the air and licking the borders

which had cast that morning spell.

Author

  • Ed Schad is a writer and art curator living in Los Angeles. He has published widely, including in the L.A. Review of Books, The Brooklyn Rail, The Blue-Collar Review, Rue Scribe, The Broken Teacup, The Blue Moon Review, The Nonconformist, and Frieze. His first collection of poetry, Letters Apart, was published by Dopplehouse Press in 2023.

    Schad

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