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~ By Courtesy of Others ~
Sigyn Talks to her
Husband
"Faithful" is the only word they allow me.
As if my tears when my son was killed
Ripped by his brother-wolf,
As if his live entrails binding your body
Were nothing.
I am nothing to them but faithful
As my hands grip the wooden bowl
Protecting your eyes from dripping venom
Protecting your eyes from the world.
The poison drips, adds to the burden
In my bowl. It fills with revenge.
You feel the drops when I leave
To empty the bowl
Falling into your eyes.
Your body shudders, shakes the ground
That you are held to,
Gripped by the last embrace
Of our son.
His brother howls, hear the
Lament for his murdered brother.
He does not howl for you.
But I am faithful, holding
time in a fading grasp.
Do the gods see that you will break the binds?
Do they know the pain that will make you fight?
Do they care that I am the one who holds Ragnarok away?
Oh, Loki, my husband,
My arms are tired.
© 1999, 2003 by Laura Gjovaag. All rights reserved.
More of her
poetry:
From a Dreamer's Scratch Pad
Image: "Loki and Sigyn", Carl Gebhardt, 1892