And red will flow

Her face will be horror

when she opens her eyes

on wet sheets, tinted nightdress,

and a sharp stomach ache.

In the dark a thin shadow

will slip out of the bed

with red-painted fingers

and hands between her legs.

As red cuts through her bones

and d

r

o

p

s down trembling thighs,

she will whisper kind sayings,

she will hug her grown self.

The river does not

apologise for its course,

she'll say, neither shall I

blame my sweet-sounding flow.

Long bygone in the corner,

dolls will hear the noise

of her flushing the toilet

in silence, resolved.