Jennifer Martelli

Is there anything under that layer?

PUBLISHED IN FOLIO 2023: VOL. 38.

–Eva Juszkiewicz

I fear suffocation and I fear snakes and once,
in a movie, I saw a man with a python wrapped
around his whole head—he couldn’t even scream.

That actor, a pale flaccid man, wry and always
amused, died not long ago. One summer,
the previews and teasers ran in a loop for

The Mummy redux: a young princess, betrayed
by her father, was mummified alive, wrapped in cloth
and locked in an iron tomb carved with the face

of a screaming woman and snakes. A snake
can crawl brand new out of its own long skin.
The father betrayed his daughter because he adhered

to his own mythology, like most fathers. I think I fear
suffocation because of the weight covering me, stars
asphyxiating themselves, colors imploding into

jewel-tone hues, like the scales of a hungry snake.
One friend insisted I fear snakes because I fear
the penis. Another said I fear trains crossing bridges

because they look like snakes if I could see them
while flying, way up where the air is too thin to breathe.
I fear suffocation and snakes and bridges and the penis,

but mostly I don’t want to be disregarded. That’s the fear.
I’m wrapped in snakeskin and cloth and cold, thick
iron: it’s heavy, and I’m left, I’m just left.