Margareta Atwood

I balance myself carefully
inside my shrinking body
which is nevertheless
deceptive as a cat's fur:

when I am dipped in the earth
I will be much smaller.

On my skin the wrinkles branch
out, overlapping like hair of feathers.

In this parlour my grandchildren
uneasy on sunday chairs
with my deafness, my cameo brooch
my puckered mind
scurrying in its old burrows

little guess how
                        maybe

I will prowl and slink
in crystal darkness
among the stalactite roots, with new
formed plumage
                         uncorroded
                                          gold and

Fiery green, my fingers
curving and scaled, my
opal
       no
eyes glowing.

Red Riding Hood

http://www.free-short-stories.org.uk/the-brothers-grimm-little-red-riding-hood.htm