Wanted that red， wanted everything tucked inside
that red， that body， it seemed， turned inside out，
that walking flower， petals2 furled， leaved
by the trees by the forest path， the yellow basket
marking the center
wanted to raise that rose
petal1 skin to my gray face， barely to brush
that warmth with my cold nose， but I knew she'd cry
for mercy， help， the mother who'd filled the basket
that morning， Wolf， she'd cry， Wolf， and she'd
be right， why should she try to see beyond
the fur， the teeth， the cartoon tongue wet
with anticipation3？
And so I hid behind
a tree as she passed on the path， then ran， as you know，
to her grandmother's house， but not as they say， I knocked
and when she answered I asked politely for her
advice. And then， I swear， she offered me tea，
her bonnet4， an extra gown， she gave me more
than advice， she tucked me into a readied bed，
she smoothed my rough fur， I felt light
as a flower， myself， stamened and stemmed in her
sweet sheets.
Not ate her， you see， but rather became
her， flannel5 chest for the red head， hood6
that hid the pearl that when I touched it flushed
and shone. What big eyes！ and she opened the cape7，
tongue， mouth to her mouth， and opened everything，
I crooned， crawling inside， wolf to flower，
gray to rose， grandmother into child
again， howl to whisper， dagger8 to cloak，
my mother father animal arms， disarmed9
by love， were all she ever dreamed of.
