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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

Posted 10/10/14
Originally appeared in Talkin' Blues 2013 and was a finalist in the Dylan Days writing contest. Also appears in THE WOLF AT THE DOOR, which is a novel-poetry hybrid available from Ars Omnia press.
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