after Vasilisa at the Hut of Baba Yaga by Ivan Bilibin Before, my torch, a mouthful of engorged lightning bugs carving radiance into the soft pink of my cheek— how curious must a creature be to know what lies beyond the body: lichen armoring the striped trees, pickpocket ferns yearning for the hem of a skirt—I am the greenest of… Read more →