August 4, 2009

Sarah J. Sloat

Red Cap

Tarry, stray,
and you fall into his lap:

a pillory and bellylaugh,
for that is the plunge of strumpets.

Down the hatch lie rooms
strewn with wool, stockings

and children's shoes,
lined with moss and stumpage.

No surprise to hear
the village hiss, complicitous.

Gossips consider it no mystery
how girls go down,

kindling for the appetite,
when the wolf asks

what you keep beneath
your apron, little mistress

and you reply: wine and tarts,
old beast, a ruse, a rosebud.


Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in Germany. Sarah's poems have appeared in Juked, Bateau and Opium, among other publications. Her chapbook, In the Voice of a Minor Saint, was published in early 2009 by Tilt Press. She keeps a blog at

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