Elizabeth Hill

Red Riding Hood

Elizabeth Hill

The forest is languorous. It basks, flickers, glows – warm with sun – has no tasks. A wolf appears. Places his sure smile six inches from my face. He beguiles me with superfluous words. I feel my own elastic lust, and reveal The usual: my name, where I go with my basket, some friends he might know.

He leaves. I walk on – and fantasize: wide mouth, shoulders… and of course, his eyes. It is so good to see him – instead of her sad, fetid body – in bed. I ask him (thrilled, willing) why his mouth is bigger than hers (want this). I untie my tight shoes as I hear: “The better to eat you with, my dear”. A man bursts in – he has a gun – shoots my red wolf – and now he opens the closet to find the source of moans: Grandma. I chose not to hear. My own body was moaning more loudly. And I do not want this boy scout huntsman.

Elizabeth Hill’s poetry has been/is soon to be published in 34th Parallel Magazine, Blue Lake Review, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, and I-70 Review, among other journals. She is a retired Administrative Law Judge who decided suits between learning disabled children and their school systems. She lives in Harlem, New York City, with her husband and two irascible cats.