© Ava Leavell Haymon.
Used by permission.
All rights reserved.
A late summer sunbeam slanted inside
and reddened to amber. Gretel reached
the broom into corners, teasing
the dot of color. The girl’s
limber movements set the witch
muttering: Fields of grain with no shade,
knife that keeps its edge. A few words —
Bees and candles, year’s turn —
growled into Gretel’s hearing,
fumbled words that twisted
the stiff mouth. Gretel saw sooty teeth.
She took a breath to ask something,
but the plaything of light
withdrew, and the dirty floor
had to be swept clean
before it was too dark to see.
Text prepared by:
- Bruce R. Magee
Haymon, Ava Leavell. Why the House is Made of Gingerbread. Baton Rouge: LSU Pr., 2010. © Ava Leavell Haymon. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
NOTE: This poem is from Why the House is Made of Gingerbread: Poems (2010), a poetic retelling of the fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel.