Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

I was half asleep and heavy with a first child

when the carcass was carried inside and inspected.

The ceremony began, the King leaned over

the deer’s body and placed a hand on his heart.

He had no more need for pelts, but what               ,              \

could be holier than being so close to a

warm thing cooling in front of your eyes.

The cup bearer came forward and anointed her.

The air changed then – the Gods were in the great hall.

The chatter stopped; the animal was emptied out.

Its gutting reminding me of a fleshy plum,

a stone deftly pushed out with expert fingers.

I hadn’t expected it to be so precise…  so tidy.

I wanted something operatic, for the dark blood

to pool onto the floor, but the men

didn’t even have to wipe themselves down.

Her eyelashes were fair, golden even.

I wanted to nurse her, to put her on my breast

and touch the small faint patch on her jaw.

But I couldn’t move. I shouldn’t have been there.

I know now the Gods had followed my scent

to the shadows where I stood,

they would have surveyed me; sandal-less

and quiet the boy stirring inside me as I

watched them hold her vascularised heart

which had stopped in the middle of a dream.