In the hold of the Rio Bella, she hangs from a black pipe, heavy like cold wet wash on a line. The giant bell soundings of the engine room hammer the walls in lullaby song. She does not seem to notice or react; deathly still, her tongue occasionally tests the suffocating air. They are four days out of Fernando de Noronha; it will be another week before reaching port in Miami. By then she will have given birth and the hold will be moving with much more than its normal cargo. She waits, a patient mother.
*a repost of a 6 from a year or so ago- inspired by multiple snake sightings while out on walks recently
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