Lana Hechtman Ayers
lives in the Pacific Northwest where she works as a manuscript consultant and writing workshop facilitator. She is also the poetry editor of Crab Creek Review and runs Concrete Wolf Poetry Chapbook Press.
She is author of two full-length collections of poetry, Dance From Inside My Bones (Snake Nation Press, 2007) and Chicken Farmer I Still Love You (D-N Publishing, 2007), and a chapbook, Love is a Weed (Finishing Line Press, 2006).
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The Wolf Reflects On His First Meeting With Red Riding Hood
it was red, as red as the Swiss flag,
yes, it was red, as red as chicken blood
—Anne Sexton
She wore that red cape like
a bandage, like bloody bondage.
Who wouldn’t want to save her
from the boredom of happily ever after,
which never really was or else the Brothers Grimm
wouldn’t have stopped there, would they?
Red was off the path picking flowers, so to speak,
witnessing art up close for the first time.
And what painting should set her to fainting
than the one she most resembled? Salome.
Had Red’s mother cunningly showcased
this daughter’s wares for her own gain?
I could only guess, yes, she had, for Red’s eyes
were fair sorrows, untried amber.
I smelled trepidation, so I vowed
I’d make a feast of her salvation.
Gretel Advises Red Riding Hood
It didn’t matter what my friends say.
I just want to see you so bad.
—Lucinda Williams
Red, you’re like a sister. Though I’m no
expert on sex, despite my conquest
of every one of the seven dwarfs
before sleazy Snow White
moved in on them
(and Sneezy still says he prefers me).
But the way I see it, it’s just honey.
Better to be buzzed by more bees
than give up all your pollen
to one hungry fellow
no matter how furry
or feral he may be.
Besides, you’ve already
got that wooden drone at home
do you really want to hitch yourself
to an artsy alternate?
Red, spread your clover all over
as I do. These woods are busy with lovers.
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