a goddess reborn into wrath and vengeance / because no one rages like you
She heard, but did not see, the quick lightning strike that lit the altar before them, the rising flame of the burnt offering…
The girl wandered in, no longer wild, no longer brave or bright, but weary and frightened, wielding her beauty as a shield before her.
The underworld wolf / rises to raze this flock. / He leaves thin / shades—trailing to the grove.
This is what they kept secret from you: fairy tales are ours to weave. In time, you will learn that, too, as did the ones before you.
I am named for the parsley my mother swallowed by the bushel, to try and flush her womb of me. I was not so easily got rid of.
I would have a word / tucked under my tongue / that would crack a man's bones / until they splintered through flesh.
She thinks of / ripe tomatoes on the sill, an oven full of fruit simmering, / a fire on the verge of blaze.
See, she’s not scared of getting lost walking down some unknown side street—no, not when she’s walking straight toward the real monster on her own.
I can only remember how pale she was, how I wondered what weights she was carrying in her soul to bow her head so low.
Her heart is always singing a song, always coming up roses, always aching to be touched and to touch in return.
Outside the snow sifted through the air like powdered sugar. Betty climbed from the baking table, crumbs showering the floor like a way home.