The Pit

A king I had never met

has decided how this goes.

Whoever measures out the thread

was always going to end mine somewhere.

He wanted me frightened first.

He has been extremely careful about it.

My leg has gone the colour of old meat

and my mouth has stopped doing what I ask.

He asked me if I had anything to say.

I have got a great deal to say.

The pit.

The first one goes in at the wrist.

It does not hurt the way you would think.

It burns, and then the arm swells black,

and then the arm stops being mine.

Tell him I was amused. I want that said.

Not because it did not hurt —

the valkyries do not ask

how a man arrived at this,

only whether he is ready,

and I have been ready since I was young.

The pit.

The little ones are already

finding out about the wet

and the older ones will come.

The pit —

I have raised the thing that ends you

in four houses across the water,

and I will be here listening.