(Poem) The Truth of Vikings by Donna Snyder

 

The music in her head makes her scared
as if Vikings still brandished their blades
from the decks of ships fierce as dragons afloat in an ageless riverThe leaves are chill flames
Cold rains obscure the water’s source
Hiding it away like the secret of a woman’s aging bodyShe is apples and pears
She ripens in her own sweet skin
Only the moon can match the luster of her opalescent bellyHer mouth makes shadows
Her fingers are a doorway and her hair a burning bush
Iconic as a religious artifact still sticky and sweet insideShe is on route to the end of being on the back of a red swan
She is on the way to nothingness made tolerable
by ritual and fire and the howling of inconsolate womenThey no longer believe
that love will save them from sorrow
There is no home now they wail there is no safe placeDeath tastes like winter flowers
She knows this because
she knows things she is not supposed to knowShe stands so close
she can hear warriors telling each other secrets
The truth is that neither love nor death diminishes you

The way to truth is a life suffered
The way to truth is a drunken waltz
She stands so close her howl is lost in the roar of the music inside her head

She is wordless before the fact of Vikings
Rain and a woman’s sluggish heat

Truth is found in a harsh yellow light

RED SWAN
This poem was published on The Montucky Review

2 thoughts on “(Poem) The Truth of Vikings by Donna Snyder”

  1. Thank you so much, Sisters, for honoring me and my poem. I can’t always says this, but this poem I do love, and to have you choose to include it on your page thrills me no end. Thank you for citing The Montucky Review for prior publication.

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