Wednesday, June 28th, 2017 – 4:25 pm
“Breath of Fenrir”
The first hunger was never collared or caged. The dogs are embers struck from her Coal, yet sad shadows of Mother. Mortal ears cannot hear red pads land on ash or sand, the rivers of sleep She laps and slithers in. A bargain was struck with us by our First Man and she promised to leave him a remnant to care for her sparks. That pact spared our people from the final fire and famine, but never slows her lunar tax and terror.
She rode and crept my foul dream with bared fangs and mercy. Once inside my tent, she weighed every heart before circling. Creeping new ice in my blue and red rivers yesterday turned bitter. It’s time. Now I’m to be crowned in crime and shroud, sewn only for the unclean or holy. Her hackles pointed at me only, so I became the broken lamp, the trial and tears of shame from the sin in our camp.
Some think she is a spider or snake, but I have seen her eyes. She refuses to touch blood until it runs black. My branches turned to twigs that they might fall with the other brittle leaves she collected before guest to our tribe. We hear her panting now, louder each night. No one may touch my tent until she has carried dry limbs home in Mother’s teeth. I whisper tender and ending verse to her child Last Moon, thankful for each patient, burning blue. Tonight I ride Fenrir back to the Tree of Ash.