Lotis

A voice

scratches

her

ear:

Come

here,

petal.

Later:

a red stain.

She doesn't cry.

She washes the sheets

and does the dishes.

The back door opens

onto a blank night.

A gull shrieks like Mr Punch.

Her blood is daughter

to the sea.

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This poem is one of my contributions to Transformations, a modern take on Ovid's Metamorphoses.

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