Look: She wouldn’t have worn red
If she didn’t want the wolf to notice her.
Right?
Like the teenage girl strolling down the street
On a hot summer’s day
White bra straps slipping from her sundress
Pink tongue peeking out
Slinking around a strawberry popsicle
Or the twenty-something at the club on a Saturday night
Skintight black dress, pomegranate-seed-red stilettos
Hips unmoored from decorum
Beneath the splash of the spotlights
Asking for it
So what?
So what if we did choose the shortcuts
Through the woods, down the alley
Across that vacant lot after midnight
Off the path
Where the wild things prowl
To the beat of our wild hearts
We asked for the bite of the wind
Like incisors
Across our bare legs
We asked for the slither of a moonbeam
Like claws
Across our bare shoulders
We didn’t ask to be trapped
Within the rank flesh
Of the wolf’s belly
Tucked into ourselves, knees kissing temples
Breathing blood and acid and fear
Waiting for some huntsman to slit the fur
See that red hood
Like a scream, if color were sound
And tug our cramped, cornered bodies
Back out
Stephanie Parent is a graduate of the Master of Professional Writing program at USC. Her poetry has been nominated for a Rhysling Award and Best of the Net. Twitter: @SC_Parent