Ann Howells
Reading Red Riding Hood
Swirling wind has made the sky a Van Gogh scene, afternoon just right for fairytales. I gather granddaughters, cousins, only girl-child in each family, and begin Red Riding Hood: in Grandma’s reedy tremble, Little Red’s breathiness, Wolf’s oily growl – in French accent – he being, after all, an Old World villain. Girls, swaddled in the tale, nod solemnly at Red’s foolishness, scoff when the wolf appears in nightcap and spectacles. Who couldn’t tell a WOLF from a GRANDMA! incredulous that big eyes and ears weren’t a tip-off. I read the woodsman in hearty bluster; they’re disdainful. No need for rescue: I’d poke that wolf’s eyes out! I’d stomp his foot! I’d kick him … real hard! Then I … I’d karate chop his neck! Wolf thusly dispatched, the girls slip away. Bailey dons a towel cape, Let’s play Red Riding Hood; I’ll be Red Riding Hood. Dil eyes the towel, pauses, OK … I’ll be the wolf!
Ann Howells is a longtime member of Dallas Poets Community, a 501-(c )-3 non-profit, and serves on its board as well as editor of its bi-annual journal, Illya's Honey. Her work appears in various small press and university magazines, and several anthologies, most recently: Above Us Only Sky II; Big Land, Big Sky, Big Hair; and Life and Language. Her chapbook, Black Crow in Flight, is available from Main Street Rag.
