Basketweave

I am the insatiable wolf
whose hunger you fear
yet whose domain you desire.
Step off the path, my dear
why are your eyes so big?
Have you never felt
the earth with bare feet
have you never smelled
fresh flowers so sweet?
Your mother warned you
to stay away
your grandmother
told her the same
yet here I stand, welcoming
and you come to me.
I am freedom. I am the door
that opens new paths, your small fingers
holding onto the basket till it breaks
like glass. What big ears you have
did you hear the wind in the leaves
or a star shooting across the sky?
What big lips you have? Better
to speak, better to eat
and my, what big teeth, you say
but they’re necessary
to clear the way.

After “Sugar House,” from Lisa Andrews’ The Inside Room.

Red Riding in the Wood

From the moment I stepped upon the path
	I knew I was meant to leave it
after all, what’s the worth of a warning

if it could never come to pass?
	so I stepped beyond the bricks
let my toes impress upon the earth

bits of dirt and morning dew
	clinging to my flesh, my flesh
as much earth now as the ground.

I tread more lightly in the wood
	than I would upon the path
for there the ground is paved

and garish, cracked and strewn with weeds
	but here the earth abounds
with green vines and blossoming flowers

of pink and lilac and white, soft yellow
	like the ethereal bricks of other
paths that women were meant to follow.

I shall not follow. I shall step freely
	decide my course, my own way
to whatever ends I aim at.

After “Gretel in the Forest,” from Lisa Andrews’ The Inside Room.