When we moved to the big house, Abuela said it was a dangerous place. Peligroso. Mom cut her a sharp glance, and said, “English, Mama.”
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I was created of beeswax and honey, with a butterfly for my heart. He should have used a spider or iridescent beetle.
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In Mississippi, it sometimes rains frogs.
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You died far away from me, and I didn't know.

When Kitta comes to tell me, I am scraping seal hide to make into mittens for you, humming old lullabies and dreaming of your ship's prow cutting through the whale-road.
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He sent for me by his golden boar.  
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I have a long, mixed relationship with query letters. My first was when I was ten, and my teacher helped me write it. When she sent it out, I prayed every day that it would be rejected. I hated that story. But it's taken me a long time to work through that karma ( Read more... )

Some day I'll grow weary of using the cannibalism tag, but until then, you get another cannibalistic fairy tale.

"The Daughter of Buk Ettemsuch" is a story from North Africa. I read it first in Andrew Lang's Grey Fairy Book. Under the cut is the synopsis from Wikipedia, ( which is fairly comprehensive. )

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