transmutation

Cole Depuy

My 28-day drug rehab group
hiked the naked late-winter Berkshires
& formed a circle near the ledge. 

The mountain range’s spine
arched in the backdrop as we passed
around a book of animal omens.
Just let a page pick you. 

I wanted an elephant or an eagle,
anything free, large, & loved,
but when I parted the pages
a snake appeared, 

coiled, lithe, licking the air,
& a deep-seated evil in me stirred.
I knew this was the right page,
sneaky, hated, poisonous. 

Transmutation,
the book prophesied, the changing of forms,
& as a snake slithers out
of its own skin, I wished to do the same. 

As a snake’s heart shifts
to make room for swallowed prey,
I, too, pushed my heart away, 

wanted to hide in grasses unseen, 
desired to squeeze, strangle, choke
until I heard everything break. 

The counselor said,
Go find something to throw off the cliff.
I picked up a branch,
approached the jagged trees
like acres of steel wool below, threw 

the branch like a spear
into the empty space. It wobbled,
descended into the valley, 

undulating
like a snake.