by Katherine L. Gordon
Beowulf is in those woods
where the mists writhe,
he has taken his sacred weapon
from the great hall
and written my name on its blade.
Where time-strings collide
in dark November thickets
I am drawn to test the walls
between the circles of creation.
Rain-bells glisten like fairy globes
on the tips of black-laquered branches,
radiant witnesses to the stealthy unraveling
of all the runes and riddles
that have prophesied this time.
All the summers of opiate denial,
soul-sleeps of winter,
fevers of spring,
have been stage curtains
for November’s grave-goods galliard.
Fear and longing collide in this dance
as I turn alone to call his name,
one must slay the unholy parts,
wake to other partners.
* * * * *
Katherine L. Gordon is a rural Ontario poet, publisher, judge, editor and reviewer, working to promote the voices of women poets around the world, as they are now flowering into acclaim. She has many books, chapbooks, anthologies and collaborations with fine contemporaries whose work inspires her. Her poems have been translated and awarded internationally. Latest book: Piping at the End of Days, Valley Press.