A Wryness from the Old Wives

Click, clack says my walking stick, & the soft buzz of a rattlesnake shivers from the rock.

You go for water & bring back a strange new lover: that’s how it is in the tales the old wives used to roll between their palms.

One long noodle of clay made a bowl, a mirror you could drink from. Coiling or uncoiling, something always gets loose.