Blodeuwedd ensorcelled by Gwydion

And so I went into the owl.

Eyes, green as moss,
darken to black. Oak tassels
spell-woven to feathers.
A blossom-soft body
wrath-scorches to brown.
Broom flowers harden to bone,
curve into beak, curl into talons.

Tiny red buds now remnants
of mouse, packed into pellets.
They stick in my craw,
spit out as vomit.

Shunned by sparrows, harried by crows,
doomed to fly lonely at night.

When he rides his spurs
through night-sighing woods
I loom out of trees,
my meadow-sweet face
moon-bright and savage.

Iris Anne Lewis is widely published. Featured in Black Bough Poetry and Poetry Wales she has won or been placed in many competitions. Her first collection Amber is available from Amazon or contact her on @irisannelewis.bskysocial; X and Instagram @irisannelewis.