This is the world we wanted. <br />All who would have seen us dead <br />are dead. I hear the witch's cry <br />break in the moonlight through a sheet <br />of sugar: God rewards. <br />Her tongue shrivels into gas . . . <br /> <br /> Now, far from women's arms <br />and memory of women, in our father's hut <br />we sleep, are never hungry. <br />Why do I not forget? <br />My father bars the door, bars harm <br />from this house, and it is years. <br /> <br />No one remembers. Even you, my brother, <br />summer afternoons you look at me as though <br />you meant to leave, <br />as though it never happened. <br />But I killed for you. I see armed firs, <br />the spires of that gleaming kiln-- <br /> <br />Nights I turn to you to hold me <br />but you are not there. <br />Am I alone? Spies <br />hiss in the stillness, Hansel, <br />we are there still and it is real, real, <br />that black forest and the fire in earnest.<br /><br />Louise Glück<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gretel-in-darkness/
