her skin sparkles
below her 1920s pearls
her long tassel skirt
snags on the branches
she bakes her lovely pies
with rotten apples
toasts her crystal glass
sipping her cider champagne
to avoid smearing red lips
she picks her teeth
with cockroach feet and lights
candelabras in tortured trees
begging for a guest
to greet the empty hallways
of her art deco cottage
a flaky golden crust
with life’s worms crawling
within sweet filling
like a princess she is
a witch in the forest wishing
some love might find her
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