I Sent My Stepchildren into the Woods
Shaun Byron Fitzpatrick
You are not my children , and life is already so very hard .
And besides , what do children know of hunger ?
You think a growling belly is all there is of want . I ’ ve heard you talk . You pray for your daily bread and are sure you could be content , if only you had something to eat . A happy family , you two and your father and a house where there is no hunger , where there is nothing le to desire .
And where am I , in this daydream ?
I am not so naïve . Maybe , if you grow older , out there in the forest , you will understand . There is more to emptiness than waking famished , and there is more to longing than a chunk of meat . I have dropped pieces of myself like breadcrumbs throughout my life , begging to be consumed . Gobble them up , I have no use for them . I do not wish to return to where I ’ ve been , I never leave a place until I ’ ve devoured every last bit of it . When I leave , I make sure there is nothing le . But I am fair . I give parts of myself , too . Eat and be eaten , that ’ s what my mother told me . That ’ s what desire is . You can take that lesson with you , when you go . That ’ s a fair trade , I think .
You are not my children , and there is simply not enough in this world for us both .
I cannot apologize for sending you away . Does that make me wicked ? Very well . I will think of my wickedness when I feast . I will say prayers for forgiveness as fat drips from my lips . I ’ ll beg for clemency a er sucking marrow from the bones of my supper , a er I lick my fork and fingers and plate . When I am under your father , alone in a house built