berlin,
1957
she cut her finger on the
sugar window pane and even when the loaves rose they were unforgiving
breadcrumbs on my fists anger in the pastry walls but it was seven floors
before we checked the blueprint not a candy knocker not a bonbon bell syrup
on the second floor goes uninspected we get mice the doors are stale and
fourteen storeys more before the fucker pays us gretel sighs I lick her
face (frosting on the brow) and tighten up her apron somewhere in the distance
a witch laughs
Abi Palmer blogs here.
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