Kristine Uyeda

Red Riding Hood

O Wolf, it’s not dinner
you’ve come for, or love.
Not even conversation,
though I know your desires
have turned your brothers away
and you’ve been lonely as of late.
Let us lay our mouths
against each other
and in the furious
accumulation of hours,
consider all the ways
in which our bones
might come together,
render, be rendered.

Lantern Review: A Journal of Asian American Poetry
Issue 1 | June 2010 | pp 73-74