THE SNAKE OF FORGIVENESS BY SWSTINIDHI PANDEY

The uroboros, a snake that eternally eats its own tail.

yet, he says it doesn’t taste the same twice. he, who is overseeing, overbearing, watchful

and mild, chews on its own flesh. he says it only hurt a little, once, when he was smaller,

tinier than the snake rings in my ring-box. then, it became the usual, he stopped caring

for the raw snake-bones that grind under his snake-teeth. he says his tail forgives his

mouth for spitting venom into its bloodstream. the mouth consumes, consumes,

consumes.

i asked his tail what it's like to forgive over and over. the tail, half-swallowed,

half-crushed, was too busy answering life to answer silly questions.

i look for answers everywhere, under tables, chairs, bedsheets, pillowcases. in old toys

and childhood letters to childhood best friends. i apologize to sharpener blades and

needles for looking for answers in purple-green veins and under thin, see-through skin.

i apologize to pink bubble-gums and yellow squish-balls for looking for answers in

hobby and sport, to canvases and quarter-filled sketchbooks for breaking pencils.

i answer uroboros in apology, as the tail apologizes to the mouth for being hard to

break. i answer his chipped teeth and bloodied fork-tongue. his mouth that consumes,

consumes, consumes. his tail that bleeds. he didn’t ask me a question. 

He ate, I apologized.