Reiði Fenrir

Wyndreth Berginsdottir

O the dire and
damning moment
then when that fair
strand, golden, fine
as Sif’s sweet hair,
held, leashing Loki’s
stricken son.

Loyal and lost,
my dumb heart
howled, woefully
watching the faces
of my fair friends
turn away.

None
were there
then who wept
for fettered Fenrir
or found forbearance
in any hardened heart.

None
now, still,
this long cold
age of betrayal
and binding, past.

No matter. Not
since I ground the
gore-god’s grip
grist in the
churning quern of
my gleaming teeth;
turned tainted trust
to wet red shreds,
wrecked, ruined,
while the war-god
wept.

I stand still
fated by faithless
false friendship
to bear this binding
waiting for
Heimdall’s Horn
and the Waning Age,
when these bonds break.

Then, O then, will
I swallow the sun
grim and grinning
as surely as
I swallowed the
shining sword-hope
of Asgard’s
golden gods.

© karen l kahan 2012

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