The Girls of Gold
By Daniella Kaufman
WC: 164

Hooded hair with streaks of gold,
adorned in velvet, scarlet red,
with dainty pitter-patting feet.

The wolf, so tempted, eats her up
because, of course,
she must be sweet.

Sweeping braid of twisted gold,
a grin that drips with honeyed shine,
her loveliness snares every stare.

The witch, beguiled, locks her up
because, of course,
she must be rare.

Swaying curls in ropes of gold.
Knock Knock—she taps, but doesn’t wait.
She takes whatever suits her best.

With all just right, she snuggles up,
because, of course,
she must need rest.

Psssst . . .

Did you hear? The wolf has died.
His stomach burst. Split side to side.

I heard the tower witch is dead.
Burned to ash, except her head.

The bears! Found cold. Don’t ask me how.
They can’t make porridge of us now.

Shhhhh . . .

Hear that knocking? Who’s out there?
A flash of red. Some golden hair.

I don’t suspect . . .

. . . No, nor do I.

But best we let her pass us by.