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Baba Yaga

by G.L. Morrison

three times this house turned its back
to the sea and its door toward me
what choice did I have but enter

the hunger out burned any hope or risk
outweighed the distance I came to know
as regret

what choice did I have but lay
my chin on the shelf beside yours
filling the room with our far-flung bodies
stretched as deliberate asleep

my memory of our arms, legs open
fills the house –your head in the kitchen
hands flung into closets, one foot in the garage,
the heel of the other furrowing the yard

these rooms could not contain
what we filled it with
and seemed to grow smaller around us

my house is still filled with the sounds of our sleeping

this was Baba Yaga’s dream: that I was a hunger
you could never satisfy and not the woman
who followed the top she sent spinning
into forests, toward other houses

the truth is you were that hunger I fed myself to
until not even bones remained
and so had nothing left of myself for you