At a pastry coffin funeral where baby ghosts crawl
A cemetery mother bakes a sugar skull
And bread for the dead in lamentation's lull
She takes up a cudgel when village life grows dull
And emulsifies her enemies into a jam pudding gel

Filling the air with a hollow drone
Splitting heirs with a croaking groan
She cuts the ground from under you when you're all alone
Fish fat and hydra heads she smashes with a stone
Armed to the teeth, she makes trophies of your bones

The silencer of straining throats
This sweet-meat matron sugar coats
The rancid flesh of rotting hopes
A plump and lusty groom or bride
She grinds and shears to elfin size
In the fertile void of sacrifice

The guardian of body marts
A crook-backed giant crinkling hearts
She sticks and pricks with poisoned darts
Coercing skeletons to dance and march
She's a Queen of terrors in a world apart
Baking sugar skulls in a clay-cold hearth

Written by © Nevada Kerr
15th October 2002.