All The Girls In The Woods

In the end, we are all lost in the woods

Shoulder to shoulder with foreign fauna,

Holding staring contests with the flora,

We are walking nowhere.

Girls, we poke our heads out of squirrel holes,

Carry seeds from ground to tree,

Branch in our beaks,

We stalk the path,

Tails wagging,

Claws clicking on the stones,

And yes, we bring cakes to our grandmothers’ cottages.

But Girls also wiggle in between the moss tendrils,

We call the fairies when it’s time for greenery-

We raise the pansies from their undead rest-

We drip from the moistened early morning maple leaves-

The dryads know something you don’t.

Does that scare you?

If we don’t want to be plucked

From the depths of the forest,

What else can you call yourself?