Ridinghood at Fifty

Ridinghood at Fifty

Ridinghood knows confidence
grows at home.
Home was a SouthSide row house,
in the flats.
Lying flat on her back,from the window,
Ridinghood saw the cupoid dome of
St. Josephats, high on the hill.
Gramma's house was on that hill.
Ridinghood was shriven of original sin
at St. Joe's.
But Gramma was washing her in the waters
of gypsy lore.
Tales of spells and symbols seeping into
interstitial tissues.
It was only Gramma that whispered that
Ridinghood was born of the caul.
Born with a hood, a rosy amniotic sac.
Gramma said a strawberry mark,
a mark of acclaim.
Some believed, a mark of shame.

Ridinghood grows in confidence.
She shrugs off the scarlet cloak of youth.
Ridinghood knows you must swallow
the wolf whole, into yourself.
No longer content with seduction by wolves.
No longer a woman who dances for wolves.
No more passive, helpless, beautyqueen femininity.
Ridinghood knows shallow lives
make shallow lines.

Ridinghood no longer eats
the bread of shame.
She knows God's gifts groan to be shared.
She has manna in her basket.
She sets a sumptious table.

Ridinghood knows old tales
can be retold, and old heroines reclaimed.
She knows beauty is only skin-deep.
Confidence burns in your bones.




A caul is formed on an infant, from amniotic tissue if the membranes have not ruptured prior to the mother starting labor.
Bread of shame is a Jewish term that refers to what occurs when we offer God ingratitude and miserliness for the good we have been given.