The Axe Bearer
“‘Do I find you here, you old sinner,’ said he. ‘I have long sought you.’”
—from “Little Red Riding Hood,” The Grimm Brothers.

In my mind,
sometimes I don’t save her.
Sometimes I stand still,
outside the windowsill,
muck trod boots heavy
against fallen leaves.
There is always a low wind
from the valley.
There is always the wolf
in the old bed.
Long teeth, the rasp
of sleeping howl,
belly full and low
with the weight of her.
Sometimes I think
I can turn away.
Turn back to the valley
where there are cottages,
voices of friends, bread
rising up.
But even in this telling,
my telling,
I kick open the door,
face flushed,
hungry to rip
with my long blade
the wolf’s flesh.
There is blood
and it is done.
She steps whole
from the wolf’s belly,
takes my hand,
thanks me, calls me uncle.
I can only back away,
knowing again
the truth of the tale:
to kill the wolf, I am the wolf
and in this house
something always dies.

Jason MacLeod