The House Of Baba Yaga Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bones made of sulfer,
bones made of granite

The house of Baba Yaga's
mighty chicken legs shoot her off
To another planet.

The only thing I have that is
For real, is this heart-
made of quartz,
made of iron pyrite-

Schools will open tomorrow,
made of sulfur,
made of sorrow-

The only thing I know for sure,
I will never have to go to school again
With her:

And I have a little bit of
Alcohol in my pocket-

I have become a horse,
I have become a mule:
The witch's curse or the witches
Spell,

Spilled out of envelopes that were
Never developed-
Latchkey children as tiny as zygotes
Riding the carosel of the sea,

Sometimes when she breathes in,
She remembers me-
A memory as tiny as a sparrow,
A pain as sharp as an arrow-

Traffics that roll whomever beneath the sun,
Bringing her forgetmenots that are already
all but forgotten-
Her face is beautiful, but heart is rotten;

And my family is safe beside me,
Watching the crypts fall beneath the sea,
As fruit is dropped from the forgetful tree-

And there she is: a color, a burn-
A chanted mandala of cobra venom-
A piece of bitter apple stuck in the throat of
virgin.