From the sticky lining of ash
on the oven walls
one might assume it was
made of sand,
but she scrubbed away
until her elbows popped
and her fingers cracked
and only stopped when
the clean slate glinted
in the dark
like a gumdrop.
“What a skinny girl,”
the witch called out,
from her seat at the table
her echo flanking
the inside of the furnace.
Her plump belly sat against
the edge of the wood
and looked like
an ice cream sandwich
slowly melting down
naked skin.
“You coy thing
with nimble fingers
and a clever mind.
Come to me now,
you fretful thing,
and let us make a toast!”
The girl took a seat
there at the witch’s table,
which was covered in bones
and lofty sinew and
sooted pewter buttons
scattered about.
The witch picked her teeth
with a shard of bone
that looked like a finger
and might very well have been,
It was hard to tell in the
sugary haze
so she looked away
as the witch roared
with laughter.
“Think of this
not as a cremation
but as a joyous feast!”
and her laughter coiled
around her neck
and began to squeeze.
“You are a stupid thing,
to think I could be fooled,
but you show promise
and for that I am
intrigued.”
The witch,
with her ice cream belly
and sugar plum eyes,
bore into her
and suddenly the room
shrank to the size
of the oven she
had crawled from.
“Drink of my cup.”
It tasted of iron and
was thick like soft butter.
“Share of my plate.”
It brought bile to her lips,
but she managed a bite
all the same.
“No more than a child,
but I shall make you a god.
Then you too will command
the fire in these walls.”
The shadows outside
began their journey into
the witch’s hovel.
Just three days before,
it had been made of sugared glass
and gingerbread cake.
“No more,” she continued,
“will you have need of
pebbles and breadcrumbs
for one day this forest will
bend at your feet.”
The witch looked at her closely,
eyes black like a crow,
and waited until
she looked away.
Her laugh shook the
ground beneath them
and the darkness creeping
inside shuddered
its own sort of chuckle.
Together they laughed and
it was like icing dripping
down fresh chocolate cake
but in her ears it was poisoned
and filled her with dread.
“And now, my apprentice,”
the witch said at last,
“finish cleaning the oven.”