Tag Archives: wolf

Little Red

Does the prettification of our oldest stories ever frustrate you? This is not an example of that, this Little Red is making her own choices. That is not to say being awake and fully conscious makes life easy.

Little Red                                                 Terry Blackhawk

Imagine her not hooded or coy.

No inadvertent blush

to stamp her victim forever.

But let us take her

as she was in the story

having chosen the path of needles

over the path of pins.

Not a child, no father ahead

or mother behind

to frame her journey with admonition

or reward. None of this

prettification, simpering

rose petal baskets or little feet,

but a child-woman on the verge

of learning her own utility,

how to resist, be strong.

Needles, not pins.

Wit will be her weapon,

and flesh—so when she lies

naked next to the wolf, even there

bawdiness will save her

and she will tell him

she needs to dump a load.

How can he argue with the body’s truth?

What to do but wait and say go?

Imagine the darkness, the orchard

outside Grandmother’s cabin

fruit trees clouding above her

as she slips free of his bonds,

escapes into the apple-cool night,

and leaves him lying there, slathering,

stupid and confused, pulling

the rope he tied her to finding it limp

in his hands.

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