May (Monday Poem)

 by Mary Oliver

What lay on the road was not mere handful of snake. It was

the copperhead at last, golden under the street lamp. I hope

to see everything in this world before I die. I knelt on the 

road and stared. Its head was wedge-shaped and fell back to

the unexpected slimness of a neck. The body itself was thick,

tense, electric. Clearly this wasn't black snake looking down

from the limbs of a tree, or green snake, of the garter, whiz-

zing over the rocks. Where these had, oh, such shyness, this

one had none. When I moved a little, it turned and clamped

its eyes on mine; then it jerked toward me. I jumped back

and watched as it flowed on across the road and down into

the dark. My heart was pounding. I stood a while, listening

to the small sounds of the woods and looking at the stars.

After excitement we are so restful. When the thumb of fear

lifts, we are so alive.

 

 

from Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver, Mary Oliver

Penguin Random House, 2017