Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Wanted that red, wanted everything tucked inside

that red, that body, it seemed, turned inside out,

that walking flower, petals furled, leaved

by the trees by the forest path, the yellow basket

marking the center--

                        wanted to raise that rose

petal 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 anticipation?

                        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 bonnet, 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, flannel chest for the red head, hood

that hid the pearl that when I touched it flushed

and shone. What big eyes! and she opened the cape,

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, dagger to cloak,

my mother father animal arms, disarmed

by love, were all she ever dreamed of.

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