Hunger

by Mari Ness

Hunger. Hunger. The heart of winter burns.
The skeletal wolf clings to thin bones.
Panting, he stalks along the frozen ferns,

fills his belly with ice, thinks of the crones,
hidden in huts at the heart of the woods.
The skeletal wolf clings to thin bones,

watches plump children in warm winter hoods
steal through the oak trees, hunting for candy,
hidden in huts at the heart of the woods.

He waits. Sometimes the children are tardy.
She may just need a little more time, to
steal through the oak trees, hunting for candy,

to find the hot sweetness. He starts to chew,
dragging behind him a little red cloak.
She may just need a little more time to

thaw. His breath heats her face. Both of them choke.
Panting, he stalks along the frozen ferns,
dragging behind him a little red cloak.
Hunger. Hunger. The heart of winter burns.



Mari Ness has been tempted by so many fruits she can no longer choose just a single favorite, but gifts of cantaloupe, watermelon, cherries and pears -- with an appropriate fairy flourish -- are always acceptable. Her work has previously appeared in multiple print and online formats, including Fantasy Magazine, Hub Fiction and Farrago's Wainscot. She keeps a disorganized blog here.

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