Iphigenia Laments

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.

By Elisabeth Hewer

Biography:

Elisabeth Hewer comes from South West England and studies Journalism and Media at university in Wales. She loves dogs, fresh starts, and lazy summer evenings. She spends a lot of time not trying her hardest and is trying to change that. She has previously been published in Apeiron Review and -Ology journal.