Gretel Grows
Gretel Grows
Ginger shavings slipped under my nails
mornings found me coughing wads of icing
I cut my palm and molasses beaded from the wound
Yes, I shoved her in the oven.
No, she did not lock my brother’s cage.
My skin dried and flour crumbled in my elbows
I dampened myself with buttermilk and smoothed
my edges back together
I ate her left thigh before my brother joined me.
We were never lost.
The moonlight and summer heat leavened me
pulled me out of bed, on the lawn I expanded
stretched into a wall for each breast each shoulder blade
We hid from my stepmother.
She fed us no cookies.
My forehead sloped into a chimney
my eyes blinked open in transparent sugar panes
I see in four directions at once
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