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or, Binary Baba Yaga


beyond the silver treeline

to a cottage made of bones

I let a strange bright firefly

show me Baba Yaga’s home


in my bag I had a bottle o’ mead

my eyes peered through a mask

I hoped an answer I would find

if I could only ask


the buggy brought me to her gate

she beckoned me inside

she sat and topped her porridge bowl

with spiders, lightly fried


“What have you come to ask me then,

and rouse me from my seat?

What could you need to know,” she said,

“To make you brave this heat?” 


she grinned wide with her snaggled teeth,

to her oven stole a glance.

I thought if I did not leave soon,

I’d surely miss my chance.


“We brought you some fine mead,” I said,

“A question for to ask.

How can we rouse our lethargy

to help us meet our tasks?”

she roared and rocked with her delight

changing her form, she boomed,

“You WILL all do good work, children,

or I’ll find and eat you, all through Zoom!”


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