Late September Snake Edwina Trentham
I suspect the garter snake who glides under the porch step when I walk by is not fooled by these sweet September afternoons. I can sense his sullen drawing in, blood settling for Fall, and the flicker of his tail, slipping beneath a flat rock today at noon, seemed half-hearted now the frogs are gone— not one around to snatch and hold fast in his intricate, hinged jaw, white rimmed eyes blank as stones during the long, slow digesting. Still the morning glories trumpet their impossible blue, veined pink by cold night, and marigolds stitch a tapestry of copper and rust as if the warm days are promising second summer. The snake knows better, lying in a pool of chilling coils under the step, marking each short, bright day that leads us all into darkness.
Edwina Trentham taught English for 27 years at Asnuntuck Community College. She has had poems published in a variety of journals, and her work is included in five anthologies. Her collection of poetry, Stumbling into the Light, was published by Antrim House. 16 Connecticut Woodlands