Bedroom Wall

You stuff aluminum foil inside the hole,
hole the copperhead entered.
Because you chased the snake
into your bedroom.

Rising dust, red tears in the air,
barefoot with child on the way.
Each night before you sleep,
is serpent there?

Child turns, glistens near the exit,
practiced in the dark.
Snake dreams itself into a bird,
how about you?

Ancient blue light of a mountain view,
shines on a rocker, calm and true.

Laurie Wilcox-Meyer lives on a mountain in Fairview, North Carolina, but her world is shaped by an upbringing in Louisiana, where she played Chopin on the piano and dodged alligators while waterskiing in the bayous.

About Bedroom Wall—This poem is in honor of a woman who appeared out of the blue and told me her story.