blue 

this morning i ran my body
78 sidewalk squares wide,
around & around passing
a plastic front lawn statue 
of st. mary. (our mother).
on each pass the house's
automatic lights would
blink on & she would be 
posed different, kneeling
on the stoop, cigar in between
fingers, i stopped &
asked her what she was
doing here on Long Island.
she stood up, slithering
over to me, something
uncanny about the motions
of her body. we went behind
the laundry mat where
all the pigeons trade gossip.
i told her i was worried
that my only
faith occurs when i run,
my sweat wet hair chilly
in the grey air. she tells
me she gave it up,
everything to be here.
she gestures down at
her feet & the snake 
that she's usually stepping
now coiled as an anklet.
staring up at me, he winked.
we sat closer together
on the back stoop
& she held out her arm
to me, tracing her veins
with one finger & prompting
me to touch. her skin,
winter metal. 
blue blood to match.
i mapped my own pulse,
warm & rushing. 
what a human, what i wouldn't
give to be only flesh again.
the snake, kissing my neck.
the punishment for turning 
away from a strong man 
is always reptilian
even if he is your son.