This piece is the first of three poems by Clare K. R. Miller, author of the weblit Chatoyant College. -- Gabriel

What are you carrying under your apron?
Cake and wine
and new, strange blood:
but I know that
for your grandmother
has draped you in its velvet sign,
declaring to the world that you are taboo.
Unclean. Holy. Set apart.
But the healing food you bring
is tainted with your touch.
What was her intent?
Can it now be consumed?

Out in the woods
we do not know these laws.
Your scarlet color shines through the trees,
your new fecund scent draws me to you,
your young, virgin flesh is temptation
that I feel no need to resist.
Your mortal food becomes irrelevant
when I swallow you down.

The old crone is a matter of convenience:
her sewing and her illness
bring you to me.
My, what a big—

You are consumed. The wolf,
now heavy with your fresh bleeding self
laden onto the crone’s dry husk,
is satisfied.