The Glassine Lizard
Kimberly G. Jackson

 

My God that’s an active snake she says. It’s no snake he says. Don’t bang on the glass she tells the boys as it rears against the pane, green belly pressing hard. It’s a lizard without legs he says. Together they read the card: you can tell them from their eyelids and earslits he says. Jake I asked you not to bang on that she says. If a predator bites off the tail it can tear free and live he says. Her black heels shift on the tile. Its head strains up, and up. She meets its pale flat eye. She can see its marrow bubbling: white lava inside the vertebrae. It’s time to go she says. Her thumb turns the coiled gold, metal on flesh.

 

Kimberly G. Jackson is a former academic who now writes and performs poetry just for the love of it. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in a number of online publications, including Wild Violet, Kind Over Matter, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Literal Latte, and Words Dance Publishing.