I saw this on waking…
a clearing in the dream thicket
deciduous woods, like childhood
wherever that was, and snow ankle deep
goose girl, you’ve run again
from those who would rape and starve you
with a pocket full of berries
or Red Riding Hood, you put on your hat
the silly mittens
with every finger knit a different color
and finally the hoodie
the color of what is supposed to stay inside but
doesn’t always comply—blood, rage, a desire
to put yourself first
to not bring the basket of delicacies
to the demented grandmother
who asks repeatedly
is that for me?
and—where are my car keys?
better to sit and drink the wine yourself
as if there were no wolf
because maybe there isn’t
and to walk
in the opposite direction
of what you were told to.
Ha, wonderful poem, I love it!
Wait, what? Another book? You’re on fire, girl! Amazing!!