prize

i reach out my sweaty palm to touch the snake in my sister's hand. she is clutching it tight around what could be the neck, if snakes, indeed, have necks.

my sister is not afraid of snakes.

it is squirming in her proud fist. mottled brown diamonds on its back catch the late summer sun. i wonder if its belly is stained slightly by grass, or if that is just a trick of the light.

my sister is grinning, triumphant.

she stands firm on the parched grass of the roadside bank. at ease, short legs stuffed into slouched socks covered with dirt.

look, she says- i got one.