I live in Baba Yaga’s house

My life presses up against the windows

threatening to explode into a thousand bits & pieces

It’s like trying to complete a call on Christmas morning

I live with Baba Yaga’s siren

All-knowing; All seeing; All brimstone’s gift

I watch attentively for non-existent patterns

Sometimes warp, weft, and weave draw-in

She flashes me what to know

She whispers, “We are sisters.”

She made me bend my knees

As I consider her value against my own worth

I know that together wisdom shall come

It is by my right of birth