1 min read

I'm innocent I tell you

or no more than an accessory after the fact.

Set up, seduced, betrayed

God, what a fool I was

from the moment I laid eyes on

red velvet crushing gold curls against skin as delicate as Meisner.

But she, cunning in no count, was the perpetrator.

She strayed from her path into my woods-

Forbidden ground- to pick bluebells.

Told me- nay instructed me on how to find Grandmother's house.

Has an instinct for my weaknesses, 

a dry sofa bed, or cedar scent linen.

I know now, how well I know, 

the perverse appeal of domesticity.

Know why my cousins will fetch and roll over.

And that absurd game

Beginning with "what big eyes you have".

Oh, the lisping nerve of her, the soft pulse at the base of her throat.

Big indeed- the better to see a pink tongue between milk teeth,

the delicate blue veined tracery beneath skin more refined than anything in my forest.

"What big ears" demure, toying with the creamy agony of delay.

While every heightened aspect of her flooded my sense until

"what big teeth" she continued and she laughed.


The memory still raises the fur along my spine.

I can't in truth say if it were a sigh, a moan or a call for help

that last moment before I swallowed her.

But it brought the woodsmana self rightous fellow.

He slit me open-

She to be born again

I to be filled with stones.

Would I do it all over again?How could I help myself. 

By: Pat Rahmann