Grettle

 

My security blanket is torn

from where you left it

blowing on the fence

covered in shattered glass

and woven through with barbed wire

 

Yet I hold it to my cheek

because it smells like you

and it tastes like freedom and comfort

both at once

 

I can pretend that its sting

is the kiss of a lover

who tastes like cinnamon

instead of the bite

of a poison apple

 

Your house is piped with icing

the windows made of sugar

the walls, gingerbread

I curl up in the bed

where I am fed

before I am devoured

 

The smell of wood burns my nostrils

but I imagine I will not be pushed

into the fire

 

If I drift

to the scent of gingerbread and crackling wood

and make believe you are baking me cookies

instead of plotting my death

like the big, bad wolf,

will my dreams be sweet?

 

I missed the walls

The logs with the knots

the stain on the floor

the matted fur rug

the last mirror that said

“you are beautiful”

 



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