" I am soft-
mouthed sloe-eyed
sacrifice.

Deer/girl here to
bleed. My mouth
tastes of Mycenae,
father. Tastes of
white rock tombs.

Father, oh! Father,
father. Look at me
my hair your hair
splayed over this stone.

My eyes your eyes
watching this knife.
The sharp edge of
it with the sea reflected.

My white dress and
myth-kings licking
the ocean-wet cling of it
with their gaze.

I am princess,
helpless, hungered for.

You’d eat me alive
for the wind. "

― Elisabeth Hewer