fairy tale children

slipping out of eyesight

through windows

and out back doors

in the dark of night

with only the stars as witnesses.

slipping through thick forests

carrying sweet-smelling woven baskets

drinking in the sun and flowery perfume

of the woods

bold in their red cloaks and redder lips.

slipping off the path

not fearful of wolves

nor spirits of rivers and moonlight

who enjoy watching children drown.

slipping down hidden wells

off invisible embankments

through mirrors made of silk and dreams.

slipping towards penny-eyed demons

waiting hungrily for their stolen meals

river dragons scorned by their jeweled flying cousins

jealously snatching whatever they can find

transparent creatures trapped in glassy prisons

biding their time until they seize

someone to take their place.

fairy tales,

you see,

are hungry, greedy things,

waiting

ever so patiently

for a child

to touch the pages

and

slip.