Grandmother Red

by Christina Sng

One never quite recovers

From the trauma

Of being eaten.

I find myself consumed

With rage,

Still asphyxiating

Inside that wolf's

Acrid belly,

My flesh seared

By its stomach acid,

That constant sensation

Of burning

Before being cut out

And spilling into the world

Like a newborn.

This rebirth

Was not easy,

Born not of love

But of hunger,

Savagery,

And nonchalance.

So, I too transform,

Picking up her crossbow,

Hunting wolves

Till they are

But a rumor,

A whisper,

A forgotten myth.