Ice Dragon
by Seawalker
Smile as you pass her, smile and speak
softly,
For her sharp eyes see you through the snowstorm
Of your denial, and she can smell your fear
A hundred yards away. She is old, old, old,
A creature crawled out of the ice not long after
Ymir’s own emergence. Not only the flood,
Oh, she remembers that, but also the great Cow
And the first giants tottering out of the armpits
Of the great sleeping mountain-father.
Before the eagle’s egg was hatched, or the squirrel
Crept in from some other world, before the Elves
Found their door and entered, carved out their own
Glittering space, before separation, She was there.
Only a handful of beings remember her birth,
Dragging herself from the ice, blinking in the red
Glow from the nearing fire-realm, stretching toward
Its melting warmth. When the first generation
Of giants died, she was there to take the bodies.
When thousands washed up on the shores
After the three brothers made their mass murder,
She worked for years to recycle the flotsam,
To clean the new-minted worlds. Many revile her,
Or ignore her like the ugly woman who cleans
The offices after the elegant suited ones leave,
Never appreciating the wastebaskets that empty
Magically, by morning. Yet she is no stupid creature;
Her eye is sharp, her tongue is keen, and she speaks
When she feels the need. Mostly, she does her job.
Her wisdom lies deep, deep beneath the bones
Of the nine worlds, and we would be wise to listen.
She looks on our gyrations, unimpressed.
Clean up the soul, and she will take the rest.
Artwork by Juliane.