She lies motionless as her son swings the damp rag by a corner, then flips it toward her. The cloth plops on her feet. She prays the applause doesn't break the spell. The boy goes to the farthest line, the one that's never been crossed. She holds her breath. The rag arcs, hits its mark.

Life has been hard in this land where no one speaks her language. But everyone understands rags to feet. Now that her son is champion, she need no longer hide her face beneath birds of ink. When she smiles, they fly away, return bearing rings for her toes.

The snake has married a young man's large intestine. It is difficult to have a husband locked in another man's body, but with a little effort any relationship can work. The snake waits for the summer nights when the young man strips the clothes from his spindly limbs before going to bed. It is then that he can slither up the young man's thigh and rest his head on the sweat soured scrotum where he can whisper and sing softly to his husband through the thin wall of an inguinal hernia. In winter, there is nothing to do but grieve and hibernate.