The Shedding

 
Today I watched a snake shed his skin.
He had become lethargic,
darker, with clouded eyes –
as one gets when they’re squeezed on all sides
by things that don’t fit.

In one giant, yawning breath
he cracked his own head open,
or so it appeared;
a violent start to this process of growth.
With his vision now cleared,
he seemed to wake up and become more frantic,
determined to rid himself
of this burden that no longer served him.
It wasn’t easy – a rebirth never is –
he writhed, he circled, he flexed, he itched,
he curled up in a ball and sat on his own head
all in order to peel his own dead skin.
It was a slow-motion limbless wrestling match,
and in the end he simply slithered out of his old garb,
left it lying like a dirty sock
and paraded about in his clear-eyed beauty.

Reptiles are not emotive pets
so maybe I was just projecting,
but I’m certain that in his newfound freedom,
I sensed a satisfied joy.