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[Quixilated]

Todd,
I LOVE this. I am obsessed with fairy tales and this poem captures the essence of any good Grimm story. There is a feeling of nostalgia, a bit of horror (with the finger bone especially) a touch of beauty and loss. I think your use of "darkling" is appropriate, it works like a time machine to set the stage. It tells me that you are referring to the darker ancient tale, not a shiny new happy ending Disney version. I also really liked the repetition of "Little mouse" for once I had read the second, my internal monologue completed her taunt against my will ... and does every time. I'm not sure it would have the effect only once. Also, true fairy tales are full of that kind of repetition.
I like the reference to the fairy tale of the girl whose kind words turned to jewels. But it feels wedged in. I was looking for other fairy tale references, the stones in the stomach reminded me of little red riding hood and how they filled the wolf's stomach with stones at the end. If there truly are other stories woven through, then maybe smooth the one about the girl whose words became jewels. If there are no others, and I'm just seeing things, then perhaps take it out for having it there makes me look for the others.
I love the hunger gnawing throughout. I don't think I've quite understood the underlying meaning, I think I can feel it, but it hasn't worked its way to the surface of my awareness yet.
One practical confusing point, in one part you say they went home (older than their parents), and then later you say you never left the witch's cottage.
This poem is going to be eating away at me, like a little mouse, little mouse, until I've completely digested it. Again, LOVE it!!!!!
--Quix

My childhood lay behind me
in this trail of torn bread
I could no longer retrace.
 
We always ate enough
to remain hungry, our stomachs
waning like the sliver of moon
that sparkled through the branches
of this darkling forest.
 
Even when I saw the food
on her table, I kept gnawing
on the shingle like
a little mouse, little mouse.
 
I still carry the finger bone
I once pressed into her hand
each night, while licking the plates clean.
 
The hunger had crossed the threshold with me,
and remained even 
as her fat melted in the oven.
 
We came back older than our parents
with gems that shone like in the fairy tale
of the girl who had them fall from her mouth
like so many ripe cherries.
 
I chewed my words until they broke
my teeth, and laid heavy in my stomach
like forest stones.
I no longer needed a path back
for I never left that cottage.