The Trip to San Severia
It was no molasses certainly. Our icing cracked
under the heat; the sun melted our cinnamon
candied lips away. Along the road, two constables
caught us hitchhiking. The map in our guidebook
got torn. We could have said the witch sent us,
asked if they had children with sweet teeth.
These days nearly everyone prefers brownies,
blueberry cheesecake, saccharine. Gingerbread
is out, like Gretel hanging by her feet over
the cauldron, our crumbs all over her clothes.