by Rowan Tate BHLNZ - Biodiversity Heritage Library NZ The world may end with a poppy blooming between my toes. Its ripe red face splitting open from roots made from my skin. It knows. Mother, forgive me for I have pluck-pulled petals from their stems, swept dirt beneath the altar steps, let the bees drown in a glass of sugared tea. I walked without looking, past the face of a trembling bird, trampling moss that was still learning to breathe. I have turned my back on a callin