BARBARA F. LEFCOWITZ

The Grandmother's Rescue

No shock of oxygen, no breast
or rocking cradle welcomes her retrieval,
slippery and  red from the belly of the wolf.
She knows this is her last rescue,
from now on she must proceed alone:
the hunter's out for younger game,
the girl hints she's ready  to chuck
her red velvet cap, the wolf's full of stones,
an old beast near death;  she never
liked to play nurse in the first place,
so why start now--

Reborn?  Not exactly. More a return
from a brief  sojourn inside the healing dark,
free to wander when and where she desires.
Perhaps today a dalliance with a field of  flowers,
like Red Riding Hood herself, so carried away
making nosegays, the pot of butter began to melt,
the milk to sour.  Or perhaps a  journey
to distant places not yet named on any map,
the chance to talk
to many strangers on  the way.

copyright BARBARA F. LEFCOWITZ