Mary McCormack

An old woman
sits at a spindle,
turning caramel
into threads.
crowd in, but
she doesn’t bat
an eye, just weaves
the threads
into tiny crickets
that chirp
and hop along
in the tall grass
outside her stall.
Children, delighted,
run after them,
reach for gauzy,
delicate wings,
come away
with sticky, sugary
fingers, drops
of green blood.

Mary McCormack enjoys wandering forest paths, dreaming up stories. Her work has appeared in Gingerbread House, After the Pause, Neologism, and Sublunary Review, among others. You can find more of her poetry in her book Away from Shore or by following her on Twitter: @marym_cc.