ure. Baba Yaga could help Vasalisa.

She knew her family.

They were just stupid enough
to send this waif wandering
in search of fire.

But you don’t get somethin for nothin.

“You’ll have to do some work for me,”
Baba yaga growled at the girl...


Vasalisa followed the hag back into the kitchen.
Baba Yaga snapped and three pairs of hands came out of no where.

Gourmet cookbooks
swooped and hovered
as these bodiless hands prepared

a smorgasbord
a splendid table
a veritable food-pyramid of delicacies!

(It was quite a spread.)

Vasalisa was famished,
but first she did as she was told.

She catered to the Yaga,
serving her by hand
dish after delicious dish from the long table.

Baba Yaga
munched and crunched.
She slurped and sucked,
stopping only now and then
to smack her lips or lick her fingertips.

she leaned back and belched

a terrible burp

which smelled

like a sour refrigerator
like a daycare center.

The Yaga
had devoured
the entire meal
leaving but

a scrap of bread
a slice of cold pizza
a dab of mac and cheese

for Vasalisa to secretly share with her doll.

“And now,” smirked the Yaga,

“You’ll do the dishes
and clean the kitchen.
and you’ll sweep and you’ll dust and you’ll vacuum... and...”

she pointed to a colossal mountain of clothes,

“Don’t forget to do the laundry!”

“And if you’re not done by morning...”
she delivered the ultimate ultimatum:

“I’ll eat
YOU up!”

When Baba Yaga flew off to bed,
Vasalisa collapsed in a heap.

How was she going to get all these
tasks done?

The clothes




(you always forget about the folding part)

and put away
by daybreak?

As her hysteria mounted,
she heard a little
from her pocket.

“Don’t worry,”
whispered the doll,

“Go to sleep.
Get some rest.

Things will look better in the morning.”