One Poem by Shelly Jones

 

Reflections from Mímisbrunnr


What must the old man’s eye see,
floating in the dark waters of Mimir’s well,

the twisted root of Yggdrasil
writhing, waiting, at its base?

The familiar, hair-covered feet
and brittle-nailed toes of one

now lost, swinging from the blood-
stained bark of the ash tree?

When Nidhogg cuts its tooth on
the gnarled roots, will the Allmaker’s eye

finally shudder and sink, escaping the flames
of Ragnarok, or stare out in horror at the world’s end,

waiting for the gentle hands of Lif and Lifthrasir
to pluck it like a seedling, and start anew?

Shelly Jones (she/they) is a Professor of English at a small college in upstate New York, where she teaches classes in mythology, folklore, and writing. Her speculative work has previously appeared in Podcastle, New Myths, The Future Fire, and elsewhere. Find them on Twitter @shellyjansen.