We Take Our Teen-aged Daughter, a Wolf, to Rome
A sort of pilgrimage. Her middle name is a landmark
in this city founded by brothers
raised by wolves.
We roam the streets, the piazzas, the cathedrals.
We listen to the singing and the chatter
of tourists, race each other around the Circus Maximus,
imagining chariot wheels, reciting legends
as if they were history.
Because she loves art, we reserve time
at the Borghese Gallery, let her lead us
through its many rooms. She stops at Bernini’s
Apollo and Daphne, my wolf daughter.
She circles then is still a long time.
Here is Apollo--spoiled, selfish, all pursuer,
villain, hunter, god--and Daphne, running
even as her feet take root, captured
in the moment of change,
between girl and tree, always.
She says, “Look: you can see light
through the leaves.” We walk out past David,
past Persephone and Hades.
Her sharp claws click on the marble floor.
Amy Watkins is a poet and corporate trainer from Orlando, Florida. She is the author of three chapbooks--Milk & Water, Lucky, and Wolf Daughter--and the art editor for Animal: A Beast of a Literary Magazine.
The Ekphrastic Review
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