It's Still Life

01 Völuspá (vou.lah.spá)

Every fisherman thinks the sea is his own to fish.

A man.
A woman.
Newly wed,
Their sacred pledge rang out.

He does.
She does.
But she wants him to be her earth,

Now.
Forever.
Beyond destruction, and a serpent’s kiss.

But to the sea
He’ll return,
His first love, to fish its depths.

And she eases her heart
With stars,
And charms,
Lit candles
And prophecy.

And at night,
She cries,
Tosses and turns like a tide,

Wanting
A wise
And virtuous, simple man –

Not one rocked
In dark and froth.
A quiet man, passionate as a dawn.

She kisses her golden ring,
Two flash spins
For a seamanʼs luck,

Lights a fret white candle
Made of wax
And apricot.

And the sea howls,
And breaks
The boat’s spar and rod,

Wooden bars
And ruin,
All washed along the shore.

And fated voices in the storm
Shout and
Call him home,

And his tongue calls out
one word,
Voluspá!

As he tightly
Holds
A rune that beckons gods to him.

The sea
Then takes his
Vanquished hand, and drags him to his end.

This was an ancient time
When a hand
Was ones sworn voice,

And so his wife took herself to sea,
And walked
Into its depth,

In search
Of her husband’s promised hand
Somewhere in the deep.

---

245-words: -1 minute reading time. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.