My grandsons drag their tent
across the back yard,
uncover an Eden of garter snakes
roiling, scared,
slithering for safety,
one snatched by my oldest grandson,
grasped and petted
before it wriggled away,
the Curse forgiven.
When I was six,
in front of my house,
an adult garter snake
rose and hissed at me.
Terrified, I screamed
for our Great Dane.
Rowdy roared around the house,
snapped up the innocent snake,
shook it to death
while I sobbed and cheered.
For years, I told that story,
fondly remembering my dog.
Now, when I see my grandson
love and release his snake,
it is my snake
for which I feel.
Originally published in Beyond These Shores