New verse by Dunedin writer Emma Neale
She cried wolf but she was the wolf
so she slit sad’s bellyskin
and stones of want rolled out.
She cried lack — and she was the lack
so she stitched up sad’s bellyskin
but more wolf leapt out.
She cried wolf till wolf was all cried out
and up skipped those stones
like knock-kneed urchykins
to finger-feed her humble pie
smooth her voice like teacher’s chalk
soften her palms like baker’s flour
and those stones they smacked
their lips and sang,
yes, yes Miss Cat-skin,
you’ll do for the kitchen;
please, please miss Wolf-skin,
won’t we all do for love?
Emma Neale, 2017
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