for Elle

There came a day
when the serpent
could no
longer stay
in her skin.

She felt
so tight inside it
she could not
wear it
for another
minute,

Her heart
writhed
until she parted
from her armor—
until she
shed her husk
in the dust
of an ample
stall.

Goodbye
brittle story,
your plot
was far
too thin.

She offered
herself
the apple—
then left there
lithe and agile,
happy
to be fed.

All that was left
was the
length of her,
a wave
of grace—
her resplendent
center.