Wild Edric’s Lament

Godda, We are here forever, trapped in the resinous amber

of the past, honeyed flies,

carved faces staring each to each across

the arc of time.

I see you standing wind whipped hair in your mouth,

seeing me mouthing words of treaty

while you hear betrayal.

I wanted a firm fist against them, not fragile fingers

poking sores.

I thought I’d got you, my Godda

but you were wort wise full of cunning, while I

a wild dog roved the kingdoms.

Sometimes it’s like that, all your pigeons flocking

home under one eave, the crux

of house Carls holding homes together

against the storm.

Now I understand, you were retreating, an anchoress to the cell

of the wild wood.

And we needed hope, a cruel way to give it, prisoned in rock

your sweet revenge.

I cannot catch you now.

So, near to where Artur bore all before him, drawing his sword

from the stone of standing,

your forebears wounding mine, I sleep, waiting

for danger to wake me.

We’re all a little tender by night.

Like a fetch off Marsh Pool, you drift over my out crops

softening the strongest jerkin,

touch a deft magic in the rain, love bite

of frost shattering.

Muscles crack against confinement, hands drumming

the tap tap of impatience

knowing full well that the horn’s winding

cannot tear time.

As sure as swallows in summer, I will be

a revenant.

Deborah Gaudin