Bitter is the bite of memory
and wisdom is a skein spun by sorrow.
Odin made us,
plucked we two ravens
from sky where we flew
sun-sated in morning.
With names he ensnared us,
with god-spelled runes
he compelled us
to speed his bidding.
Our minds he shaped
to see warp and woof
of future and past
weave the present.
He gave us tongue
to whisper secrets
of all beings living
and not living, in his ear.
Odin made us
Odin named us
Wisdom and Memory.
Bitter is the bite of memory
and wisdom is a skein spun by sorrow.
Once we two
delighted in feasting
on entrails gleaming
of horses and men
slaughtered in battle.
But Odin changed us.
Odin shaped us
to sift and measure
grains bright with hope
in brave lives fleeting.
Now we ken
laughter of children,
and strong women hands weeds-pulling from garden.
Now we grasp the bond
between brothers,
and words whispered
between husband and wife
in wine-dark evenings.
Unwilling, we understand
death is the reward
of every battle,
how each man’s dream
ends in a mound of dirt.
Bitter is the bite of memory
and wisdom is a skein spun by sorrow.
Exiles now, from lofty skies
and freedom’s flying,
we slake our thirst with longing
and dine on raven-heart.
Odin made us
Odin named us
Wisdom and Memory.
Bitter is the bite of memory
and wisdom is skein spun by sorrow.
Ann Miller holds degrees in English and philosophy and a J.D. from the University of Denver. She has published in the Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review, the Connecticut River Review, Poem, and the South Dakota Review among others. She currently works as a book reviewer for BlueInk Reviews.
