Andrea Blythe and Laura Madeline Wiseman
Go, they said, to where the rocks hang, jagged and sharp,
where we could walk for miles without car sounds, without
the violent honking rush of city and its constant needs of buy
and get and more, no big boxes or chain strips or WiFI.
Go, they said, to where rocks hide, buried in dirt, hidden in water,
where we can feel, let our toes slide, listen for the cascade of stones
tumbling over like minutes falling, like breadcrumbs, like lives.
We go to where the grotto offers its opening, a dark chamber,
an oven, or maybe a house, wet with melting drip of frost
and iron-streaked, like caramel or chocolate, or a kind of sweetness.
The witch is here, we say and enter holding hands.
We come expecting terror, hungering for the thrill of this leaving,
this arrival. Go, our parents said, but she said, Stay
with me. You’re welcome at my hearth. We shelter here,
my brother inside her cage, glutting on glazed donuts, sugar-sprinkled
bread, men made of ginger. I sweep up the ashes, saving the bones.
Andrea Blythe writes speculative poetry and fiction, which has appeared in various publications, including Nonbinary Review, Linden Avenue, Strange Horizons, and Bear Creek Haiku. www.andreablythe.com
Laura Madeline Wiseman is the author of twenty books and chapbooks, including Drink (BlazeVOX Books, 2015) and Wake (Aldrich Press, 2015). www.lauramadelinewiseman.com