Granmama

the cottage was set
in a space between
forests of toothpick
trunks with tufts
acting as canopy.
the space around it was large,
flat, with rows of
wheat to the back
and plump sunflowers.
the light woke me,
despite the cover of trees.
the mist hadn’t yet risen.
so early—

my stomach feels raisin-like.
I sneak low, and
pick off a ray of sun
and grind it down
with my teeth
to the taste of shit.

an ogress lived in that cottage
whom I called ‘Granmama.’
she was awful looking, her
veins bulged; she was lumps
all over.
she fed me occasionally
when I’d come out of
the trees—few and far
between,
so there was no point to ask.
just sitting;
gagging on sunflowers.

in fact, she died some months ago.
but I never moved into her cottage;
I burned it down and slept under a toothpick.