snakes raze my uncle shows me an album of pictures i've never seen before. in one of them, i sit on stones at the lip of a lake. my back to the camera. head tilted to show the sharp edges of my smile. hair slicked back but short enough to spike. i must be thirteen. my mother stands beside me. there's something unsettled in her eyes. it takes time to see the cobra crawling our way — a thick cord of death in no great hurry to reach us, content with the knowledge that we'll never outrun it, and the current we turn to for deliverance will only carry us closer to the end of everything. 230914 what's it to you? who go blather from