I have been to West Virginia
—————and seen men and women pray
——————————–—with a rattlesnake sliding through
—————the forest of their fingers.
They think of it as radical obedience
——————-—to a phrase in Matthew: thou shalt
——————————–—pick up poisonous serpents.
—————It is terrifying to listen to the rattle
and wait for the creature to strike.
—————All of them are miners or were
——————————–—and miners’ wives.
The pastor, retired from mining,
—-—has a shrine in front of his doublewide:
—————a statue of a miner, a lantern, a pick. He lies
down in the evening
—————with an oxygen tank.
When I mention mountaintop mining
——————-—after dinner (they have invited me
to stay the night) and tell them the blasting will
—————corrupt the water supply, the pastor’s
wife is adamant: if God didn’t want coal to be mined
——————————–—he wouldn’t have put it in the ground.
—————At the service the snake is
hapless, boxed in,
——————————–—handed off.
—————Strange how they take this creature—a dangerous
task—from its hole in the earth,
——————————–—take it for their own, take
—————death communally
into their own hands
——————————–—and pray
and most of them live.
—-—One man’s fingers were twisted,
paralyzed from past bites.
——————————–—They also drink strychnine,
for God, again because of Matthew
—-—but in tiny sips
and teach their bodies to live, to live with the prayer,
with the poison.

 

 

---

Patricia Davis’s poems and translations have appeared in Smartish Pace, Third Coast, Crab Creek Review, Kestrel, and other journals. Her chapbook, The Water that Broke You, was published by Finishing Line Press. She earned her MFA at American University.