The Ophidian Queen

Survivors tell of the Ophidian Queen
Who coiled herself around them gently
Out of the black and calamitous scene
Of splintering spars and monstrous seas;
The serpent cradled them intently,
Rising in the vortices.

The Captain woke to daylight, warmth and sand;
The Serpent Queen reposed in state before him;
Her snake retainers gleamed on every hand;
Their ranks displayed with scintillant decorum
The splendor of the vipers’ forum.

“Fear not, fear not, Little One,
Let not your face be pale,”
He seemed to hear the hiss of rope on sail,
Or soughing that etesian winds betoken;
The swaying figure must have spoken,
But in a tongue long dead;
And yet he understood and turned his head,
Hearing from this daughter of Osiris,
The ancient speech of the papyrus.

Oh, she was a beautiful creature,
Blending with her woman’s face
A watchfulness and sinuous grace
So sensuous in every feature
As stirred in human breasts rebellion
Beyond the dreams of Trojan Helen.

That the Captain loved her, we know
From texts deciphered ages after:
Exquisite passages that show —
Incised by an omniscient crafter —
The hieroglyphs of serpent laughter.

Once more their intricacies yield
The syllables that she addressed
To her belovèd as he kneeled:
The sibilants of a caress.

But time and text invariably distort
The story of that ancient court;
The narratives of sailors who returned —
Proof against derision and retorts —
Were lost when Alexandria was burned;
The passion that her mortal lovers learned
Has been misread in scholarly reports
In the Christian era,
When snakes are spurned;
Guides have misled the seekers of her soul:
Read “wivern” for “woman”
         “anguis” for “anguish”
         “cobra” for “condole.”

So we are left alone to learn
From fragment script and fragile scripture
What strained the heart of the constrictor.