Shieldmaiden

Nobody swings in a shield wall.

You stab low, under the rim,

into the thigh, into the gut,

into whatever is soft and near,

and you hold your feet in the mud

while men die leaning on you.

Shieldmaiden.

She held the left, where it always goes,

and came out of it wearing a man's insides

and asked what was for eating.

Better at it than me, and I say so.

The men complained for a while.

Then a shield came apart on her rim

and she held the gap with her body

and nobody complained again.

Freyja gets first pick of the slain.

She will not be picking me.

Shieldmaiden.

I have been asked how I allow it.

Allow. As if it were mine.

As if she asked me at all.

Shieldmaiden —

and when it ended between us

it was not because of the wall.

She would still hold my left today.