A Face to Meet the Faces: An Anthology of Contemporary Persona Poetry

When Red Becomes the Wolf

252 A Face to Meet the Faces When Red Becomes the Wolf Jeannine Hall Gailey In my dream you brought me fried bologna sandwiches. “But wait,” you said. “You don’t even like bologna.” I wolfed them down without answering. I have never owned a red cape, that’s asking for trouble, I knew. I dyed auburn hair brown. In the forest by your house, I met someone gathering wood. “Nice axe,” I said before wandering further. I was obtaining samples for my botany class. How many daisies make a statistic? I thought of Persephone, her dark gash that allowed Hades passage. Which flower? I was hungry, and tired. I entered someone’s cottage, it was dark, and there was an old woman. I volunteered to take her to get her hair done. I mentioned I was born under the sign of Lupus. “No,” she corrected, “Lupae.” Later, eating sandwiches, we discussed you and also whether I could wear her fur coat. “It makes you look feral, with your green eyes,” she said. Oh grandmother, what a big mouth you have. ...