Poem #127 of 365

There was no witness for me, and
no one to vouch for the scorpion either.

And so a year passed.

The next June in Mexico, I stood
in that house. In the big room.
With my same blue duffel as the summer before.

We had gathered, arriving from various states,
so many excitable women. Hugs and hellos all around.

To reach for my bag, I stepped past Lorna.
And, along the zipper that spanned its length,
there was the scorpion. Same color and
size as before.

A series of screams, but my mouth stayed closed.

It was that same scorpion, or so I believed.
Come back to greet me.

This year, everyone saw it, and regretted
their doubt.

Its body, smashed and inert, was placed
on a plate.

We'll never forget.
To check our shoes and
to better believe.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez