The Serpent

A man had a daughter

and a wyrm coiled in his yard

that ate whatever it wanted

and had done for years.

Not Jörmungandr. Smaller.

Big enough for this.

He offered her to whoever.

Twelve went in. None came out.

I did not go in for her sake.

Let me be honest about that.

I went in because a thing

that everybody fears

is the fastest road I know

to a telling the skalds will keep.

The serpent.

Pitch on me to the shoulder,

the spear in through the roof of its mouth,

and the whole length of it winding up the shaft

and taking most of a day to stop.

She owed me nothing and I never suggested otherwise.

She looked at the yard, not at me.

We were married after the thaw

and she was better company than I deserved.

The serpent —

they still tell it with me shouting.

I did not shout. I was terrified,

and I did it anyway, and that is better.