Cobra Dream

Moonless night, coal black ceiling.

My old beat-up guitar clutched 

my shoulder as we visited 

Jim, the luthier at Hogeye 

music store. His fingers explored

the guitar’s fractured rib —

he shook his head hopelessly, 

tuned the instrument. The cracked

body coughed up snakeskin torn

between worn strings.

A shiny mandolin hanging

nearby strummed chords 

to Moondance. Guitars gyrated, 

banjos gamboled, 

the floor vibrated.

I screamed!

Through the uterus below

the rosette-lined soundhole

crowned a cobra’s head

swathed in resiny yellow.  

Its body shimmied skyward,

ribs expanded, whole.

Clouds hovered 

above my bed, chipped 

away at the old black paint. 

Moonlight slit

the window speckling 

the comforter gold.

Bio:

Christie Chandler Stahl is a writer, educator, and former librarian who lives in Evanston, IL. She has published poems in Midsummer Dream House, Flying Island Literary Review, The Winged Moon Literary Magazine and Poetically.