I’ve decided to take the plunge and create something every day, in 20-30 minutes, for the next month. The theme for my first week is ‘Fairy Tales,’ and today’s piece is a continuation of my fairy tale retelling poems.
Comments are welcome, but please be kind in your critique: these are twenty-minute exercises, not finished pieces.
I’ll put the pieces themselves behind cuts, by the way, so that if you don’t care already, you don’t have to care. :)
She growls at me
from the belly of the wolf.
Winks from wicked wolf eyes.
Grins with wolf teeth.
She dyes her cloak of fur with blood.
She’s fat on flesh, yes, and cakes
and curdled milk, and soups as clear
as those wide, blank wolf eyes,
and maraschino cherries
and her own shit, which tastes
like maraschino cherries.
She’ll eat anything.
She’s done, now, with carrying baskets
from here to there, with lifting
pitchers, round-bellied and dripping with milk,
to the lips of invalids, with picking flowers
until her hands drip cherry-red, cherry-thick.
So it’s worth the fleas,
and the bed of leaves,
and the blood on her cold, wet nose,
and an axe, now and then.
I know someday a capering young girl
will burst, careless, from her belly,
crying out for rescue, for pity, for milk and love,
pitiless with greed, leaving nothing behind.
I’ll crawl inside the husked pelt
and growl at myself
until I’m frightened.