For my brother, it meant everything to stretch out and press his face against the pane of candy stretched crystalline.
To take the path away from father for me one step away from step-mother, baking our dreams into crumbs we left on the floor.
We’ll trace them back to the place between lost and found, once we’ve fulfilled our parts, he’d always tell me.
But he doesn’t understand, and honestly when does he, that we’ve been doomed from the start.
There is no Gretel, to stoke the logs, close the grate and latch no heroine to fit the story’s need there's only me
So when the witch comes back she’ll ask has Hansel truly grown fat? a little pinch of the skin an inadvertent test to see which one of us should win?
It’s always an offering always a suffering always a surrender of what makes me, she and Hansel truly him
But I don’t mind filling this role I know it’s what I was made for half baked like the crumbs in a crummy oven the real Gretel’s long gone so her understudy will do. If Mother could bake one daughter why not try to bake two?
The witch will say it’s time and ask me to reach back far to find a warmth she can't see it’s really not that odd to hear the words escape me: "why don't you try, it's utterly exhausting always having to hide" and besides I always desperately wanted someone to show me
And I’ll even smile as the crackle burns for just awhile Hansel holding my hand my pigtails askew.
The crumbs, our true parents, eaten in the leaves.