The Burning Rose for Freyja

She asked me for my fear
when I burned the dried rose at her feet
though she was not one to demand sacrifice

My heart,
full to brim with yearning, an unfamiliar loneliness,
yet scoured clean by the rolling tide of uncertainty,
faltered in its answer

Before,
she would raise her chin, surround me in her cloak

The cats shifting restless about us, vying for attention
and I knew then,
I knew she was the better part of me

But to rip my fear away from me now?
It is too much

I watch the bow of her lips
and unrelenting eyes
The feathers of her cloak shift,
their dark reflecting lantern flames

For a moment,
I felt her chariot drive into my heart, demanding an answer-
What am I willing to give for what I seek?

I cry out, clutching tighter to the fear that has become
so familiar to my soul

I look back upon the girl I was,
casting myself to her feet so willingly,
a candle flame hungry for its maker

I see the woman I am,
no longer a candle, but a roaring inferno
A fireplace, a waiting hearth


I breathe out a stream of rosin smoke,
and with it I give her my fear

The bow of her lips curls,
long fingers gripping tightly to the waves
smoking from my nostrils, out of my eyes, my mouth

Her fingers braid, coil, wrap
until she holds in her hands a spiral of rope I was hanging myself with,
a slow insidious suffocation

It is done
but she does not wrap her cloak about me
nor whisper a benediction in her honeyed voice

Instead, she looks at me with a slight nod,
and is gone

I am left alone with the charred flower,
the light of the lantern continues to burn into the silence
Flames bounce off the tips of my dark hair,
feather black
 My cat winds about my feet,
the smell of incense and rose clinging to my skin

I think of this waiting hearth and roaring flames
Perhaps she is right,
there is no need to be afraid

Somewhere behind me, I can feel my lady smiling