No one stopped to wonder
about how you got there.
Why you were so desperate
you dared to live in the woods,
huddle up with these
carve a niche out of a cave wall
where was your home?
Where were the hundreds
of flickering torches razing the wood
to ash until you were found?
where were the roadside signs and offers
Were you a milk carton girl
with your dimpled smile
and spiraled gold locks
sharing space with the nutrition facts?
Were you running away from home?
Or were you taken
by men too vile for your stories?
Bound, gagged, and made dirty
did you chew your ropes,
crawl to your feet,
and run to the nearest warm place?
Did you even have a home to run from?
I've never stopped to wonder before now.
But tonight I am pouring over your stories,
every book of fables still echoing your heartbeat
in its pages.
I'm straining my too open eyesto find more about you
in between the lines of big printed words,
but the pictures are too prominent
for you to tell me your own story.
When they came home from the hunt
with blood on their breath, bitterness
dripping hot off their chins,
when they saw you,
sleeping in their child's bed
like you were wanted...
their porridge sipped,
it all tasted too much like home for you,
Did they hind leg roar at you?
Show their claws, their teeth, and tell you,
"What made you think you'd find
Did you fall to the floor, then?
Poor child, did you plead on four legs
for their acceptance?
Did you tell them through your tears
about how that bed, that porridge,
that place felt more like "belong"
Did you tell them your story?
When I flip the page,
the picture shows you leaving
famous fairy tale brat.
What were you scared of?
Was it the bears?
Or the inevitable run outdoors,
no place to run to,
beasts too wild for bed-time on the prowl?
I have heard your story hundreds of times.
I'm starting to wonder where you went
desperate enough to steal food
from three Bears.
I'm beginning to wonder
where you went next.
What new grotesque den of
do you dare call home,