FROM DANGER'S DEN TO THE RIVERBED

she wove folklore into my braids.

she illustrated teacups with tales steeped in dread.

at bedtime, i would sip warm milk honey

while following a mossy trail into a dark sleep

they were as familiar as friends

but there was only fear between us:

the witch, the hag: the cage, the crime

the bad, the good: the hood, the hiding

the boy that cried wolf: the wolf, the night 

 I should've known what he was

and which lesson he bought to these woods

he came dressed in red.

and i hid behind innocence

when i should have bared my teeth.

did you cry when you finally felt the river's embrace?

did the ending surprise you?

I am not a child anymore

and yet their voices are still clear:

this the price you pay

for following danger to its den

this is how you become one of them.