Red

Picking the flowers of Trillium can seriously injure the plant. The three leaves below the flower are the plant's only food source and a picked trillium may die or take many years to recover.

 

“Now child,” my mother says to me,

“Go carefully along the path,

watch out for snakes in the grass and wolves in the brush..”

She hooks the handle of the basket over my arm and pats my cheek.

“My good girl.”

Her contented sigh follows me out the door like a whisper.

And so I go.

Weaving amidst the tall trees,

skipping,

stopping, the trilliums bloom here.

Slender necks rising from a crown of verdant leaves,

dainty blossoms flushed deep.

Nodding,

bending

down.

Pulling my hood closer around me,

the wind scuffles the leaves, I hear

a moaning sound.

The wind.

The man who leans heavily,

pressed into the scales of bark on a fir trunk.

Lets out that sound again,

a low groan, resonant

redolent with unnamed hunger.

Touching the cloth over the basket with the tips of my fingers,

Searching,

coming closer, a twig snaps under my feet.

Face flushed,

hands rustle at his clothes,

lips split open.

A gape filled with long, white teeth.

Coming even closer,

I can’t stop.

“My grandmother…” escapes from my mouth, a weak dry whistle.

Falling, the basket,

rolling, the apples this way and that

cracking, the bread crust opens

bouncing, the jam jar hits a rock

leaves

a crimson splotch on the forest floor.

Falling

up,

seeing the sky

blue innocence,

over his shoulder,

over.

He picks the trillium.

Pats my cheek.

Presses it into my palm.

“My good girl.”

And so I go.

 

Reviews

[Desirae]

Nice poem i like how you started off with the dangers. It was awsome!!!!

[Bubo]

Thought this was a fab, dark look at a tale so many enjoy...........the flow and imagary wonderful, and of course, the sheer darkness of the end was thought provoking and very realistic in our times today.........the way you weaved and pulled the reader in was outstanding.............I was hooked and then silent at the end.
The one word
over
worked so well................Kudos to you!

Falling
up,
seeing the sky
blue innocence,
over his shoulder,
over.
He picks the trillium.
Pats my cheek.
Presses it into my palm.
�My good girl.�
And so I go.

[Blackbirdsong]

This is wonderful! I love how you retold this story and really made it come alive in way that was unexpected. Using her red hood and spilt jam, along with the man saying "My good girl," at the end sent shivers up my spine. It's quite clear what happened there in the woods and it had nothing to do with nice teeth. :)

"Falling, the basket,
rolling, the apples this way and that
cracking, the bread crust opens
bouncing, the jam jar hits a rock
leaves
a crimson splotch on the forest floor.
Falling
up,
seeing the sky
blue innocence,
over his shoulder,
over.
He picks the trillium.
Pats my cheek.
Presses it into my palm.
�My good girl.�
And so I go."

This is some powerfully, gorgeous stuff. So who's next? That bed hopper Goldilocks or that vixen Snow White? lol