Baba Yaga Poem by Theresa Williams

BABA YAGA IN THE 21st CENTURY
 
After she’d tipped her beer
more than five times
she began haltingly to dance
and I understood:  she isn’t different
 
from any other woman
who finds herself
at the back of the line
who goes to parties alone
and has no one to sit with
Where are her fiery skulls?
Next you know she’ll be wearing
 
rhinestones and face cream
She’ll be inviting us to her house
for cookies and milk
We’ll kiss her old wrinkled cheek
unafraid

Theresa Williams

 

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