Sometimes I like to hide in plain sight,

hold my breath and count to ten, waiting

for someone, anyone, to Red Rover me over, 

and then

sometimes I am the snake who swallowed

its own tail, and I am safe and warm in my

own dark space until I regurgitate myself

back into the light, 

and then 

I seek out the nearest stone under which 

I can hide until I hear the magic words, 

“Simon Says slink to the center.”  

And then 

I slide out from under my secret place

only to see my reflection in a discarded

mirror and I am not a snake after all,

but a frog wearing a crown, waiting…