A golden-haired girl, seemingly shy
walks in, not tapping on the door
not even calling out, hello there?
She crosses the blue rag rug, into
a room fragrant with cinnamon and
fresh hot milk, three bowls of oatmeal
dressed with raisins and nuts. She takes up
a napkin and polished spoon.
Suddenly, bears everywhere. First, hot
breaths, then growls grow dark. One cool claw
tears at the sleeve of her pinafore.
Who decides where to fix blame
in a fairy tale we shouldn’t trust?
Those who look harmless surprise us.
Bluestem Archive 