Once there were two snakes
slithering up the bark
of a fruitless tree
to keep away from our wanting
to tame them
before they could grow wings
and fly away.
Grasping for their tails,
we clawed the woody trunk
into shreds;
slid into that mulch
exhausted-
your ribcage wide open
my heart still on ice.
Karen Gonzales reads: Once there were two snakes
Bio: Karen Pierce Gonzalez’s collections include True North (Origami Poems Project 2022), Coyote in the Basket of My Ribs (Kelsay Books 2023), and Down River with Li Po (Black Cat Poetry Press 2024). An award-winning writer, her poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in numerous local, national, and international publications, podcasts, and radio shows. Several of her short plays have been performed on local fringe festival stages. She is a former journalist (San Francisco Chronicle, etc.), and, as a folklorist, she has facilitated family folktale workshops and was a folklore columnist. A featured National Arts Program artist, her 3D assemblage art follows the grains of tree bark, the threads of textiles, and the waters of color. Her work has shown in several west coast galleries and has appeared on covers as well as inside several literary magazines. Website: karenpiercegonzalez.blogspot.com. Twitter: @folkheartpress
IceFloe Press 