Thirteen; Red; Anonymous

 Thirteen
 
 Hip cocked, licking the knee-buckling sweetness 
 from a bush’s worth of honeysuckle, splayed blossoms 
 
 
 lusting for birds, pale wings of my shoulder blades  
 slickening in the sun. There was sugar, and I knew 
 
 
 where to look, popping the fluted stopper 
 from the base of each heady bloom   (oh, 
 
 
 God)   the slow unstitching of the flower – pulled thread, 
 pearl of nectar, that rush.  

***

 Red
 
 I knew he was the wolf, of course – meek as a retriever 
 on his bony back, frilled nightcap taut between the peaks 
 
 
 of his ears, drooling at the yeasty smell of my basket. Those 
 are some big teeth. Thing is,I’d walked into trouble’s mouth 
 
 before. The woods were cruel - nursed by thicket and thorn,
 my hood apple-bright in the browning light, the huntsman’s 
 
 scarlet quarry. They’ll tell you it was he who cut us free – me in 
 my sodden cape, unspeakable, granny naked and blood-streaked
 
 as the day she was born. The truth is, I unzipped that beast, 
 dragged us both out of his bulging gut. I learned early – 
 
 once you leave the path, you’re only 
 as sharp as your blade. 

***

 Anonymous
 The house is loud tonight, the wind in its throat. I lie in bed
 and think of       other beds, in other rooms 
  
 chaste eyelet of my childhood duvet, second-hand mattress 
             with the dip       shaped 
  
                         like a stranger. In the dark, my body 
  
 could be        anyone’s. Nest of dry cuts 
             in the bend of my arm, sealing themselves 
  
 like hushed mouths. It's not       a secret, 
  
         the way a body can build a prison 
  
                         around a person. The dead know, 
             un-becoming in their boxes, the opposite 
  
 of seeds. We bloom 
  
                                     in quick pink knots, milkweed blown 
             to fairy floss, soft catch 
  
 for cupped hands. My body 
                                     could be anyone’s, in the dark. 

*****

Steph Sundermann-Zinger is a student in the Creative Writing and Publishing Arts MFA program at the University of Baltimore. When she’s not working or studying, she spends her time in joyful, messy coexistence with her wife, two children, and numerous pets. Her work has appeared in Post and Isacoustic.