Ida Red
DJ Wolfinsohn
my father found me in a basket.
he never wanted kids but there I was,
a wet note clutched in my tiny fist.
13 years, it said.
until what?
dad didn’t believe in omens, predictions, magic.
dad played hockey, worked construction, drank.
still he burned the note, just to be safe.
trapped in this fairy tale,
he read every book on the subject.
looking for answers, he found riddles.
spindles and gold. girls in towers.
he named me Ida Red after the apple
because he dreamt I was an apple,
lying in a crib on a cliff,
a cloud covering my face.
when I turned 13 my mother came back.
she had a snake body and the face of a movie star.
celery-green skin, long black hair, cheekbones for days.
we had a deal, she reminded him, taking me home to the bottom of the lake.
I won’t forget his face, or the things he taught me.
how to hide in hollow trees.
how to read by firelight.
how to tell a wolf from a man.
I remember once we rescued a kitten from the creek behind his house.
a little girl, she was drowning.
all bones and wet fur.
her eyes glowed like lanterns in the night.
DJ Wolfinsohn’s first published work was a riot grrrl ‘zine that began in her Brooklyn apartment and ended up at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame, where it is now part of the permanent collection. Her fiction and poetry has appeared in HAD, Vestal Review, Memoir Mixtapes, and Hog River Press. Additionally, she has written about film and music for the Austin American-Statesman and Entertainment Weekly. After spending her formative years embedded in the midwestern punk scene, she now lives in Austin where she co-owns a bar with her family. She’s on twitter @debbywolfinsohn and at debbywolfinsohn.journoportfolio.com.
© Variant Literature Inc 2023