Counting Fingers Again

Because she’s sure the wolves have taken some, Geraldine

has started counting fingers.  She’s not sure how many she had

before.  She thinks they may have taken a nose, a breast or some

of her toes.  But mostly, her fingers worry her.  They look lumpy

and uneven, leftovers the wolves rejected.  She has fed the wolves

ice cream and donuts.  Slipped out with steak and chicken, hands full

of scrambled eggs.  Sometimes their long tongues and sharp teeth

wrap around her fingers, but always, they seem to let go and try again

lunging for the treats she offers them.  A nip here, a bite there. One,

she says, two.  Three.  She starts again.  One.  The wolf pack forms

around her, sweeps her out into the darkness with them. Tonight, she

has frosted sugar cookies.  With sprinkles.  Her pockets are full of them.

by Mary Stebbins Taitt

Published in eDificewRecked