For those of you who have read my contemporary story of Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, Red Riding Hood’s Real Life ~ a novel in verse, here’s a little pandemic update. Special thanks to G.G. Silverman for her workshop “Way of the Wolf” where this new poem howled into being.
Spoiler alert!!! If you haven’t finished reading my novel-in-verse, you may want to hold off reading this poem until you have.
Mornings after breakfast of Earl Grey and freshly baked bread, dough mixed by Red, risen, kneaded by me, she confines herself to the bedroom of our three-room cabin by the sea, where she plays with a kiln-less sort of clay, shapes absence into kaleidoscopic moons, while I, in the living room delve into pastels, not my usual palette, but with the pandemic draining joy I’m forced to employ Pepto-Bismol pinks and Mickey-D yellows to do the bidding of my once feral imagery. This is how we pass molasses minutes of daylight, but the nights—o the nights— remain our delight, cloaked only in slinky shadow of overcast or in adoring lunar glimmer, we smolder with desire, light fires within the hearths of one another’s haunches.