Writing Sigyn seems to be taking its toll- my head is stuffed with Norse gods and legends and monsters. I wrote this poem for a competition called Furies, run by the website For Books’ Sake. Earlier this week I found out that I wasn’t selected for the anthology, so I thought I’d post it here instead.
I am my father’s daughter, but the fire
that smouldered in his veins turned mine to ash
I felt no spark or glimmer of desire,
hate, love, or hope, until the clash
of swords and smash of skull on stone transformed
my state from monster-child to corpse. Below,
in Niflheim, I am no more deformed
than blossomed trees in spring, or shards of snow.
Here, I am Queen – my throne far more secure
than his who cast me down, my armies vast
and swelling by the day. They were so sure
they’d won, but gods, my laugh will be the last.
For I am death and glory, foe and friend
And all will kneel before me in the end.