Antivenom
First, we learn to dance
Our bodies twist and coil like baby snakes squirming
their way out from the cracks of eggshells
The sun dries the emptied yolk onto the gravel pavement
like a press-on tattoo—
and then the cycle of youth becomes logical—
temporary, yes, but the mark of birth still leaves a stain on the driveway
So we attempt to maneuver ourselves onto the front lawn
—tiny hearts beating slow, and our skin—still shiny, still new.
And there is still no reason to strike
No reason to strike at all
Fasting
There are drops of red in the water
I like to choke until
the blood comes yes,
spoon-feed me the burn—
A hungry throat
likes to swallow
every last light in the room
Mouth
I was eating a cupcake at a Halloween party
—that night, everyone felt
new in the skins they rented—braver and
not quite themselves
And still, I remember the hallway,
How blonde haired and blue eyed he looked at me
Spoke in a hushed tone, the kind brimming with
static—he was dressed like a motorcycle gangbanger
with pull on sleeve tattoos and I remember
feeling nervous
not afraid—just nervous
—and then—
his tongue, wait, I wasn’t—
his tongue—spit—spit it out—
Finished
And still, I remember the hallway,
The plastic bats in the dark,
dozens of dancing feet
Mom came to get me at ten fifteen
my stomach—
empty
Spencer Williams is from San Diego, California and is currently an undergraduate at the University of Iowa. One day he'll marry a Chipotle burrito.