Nobody ever asks me if I loved them.
When people talk about my children, they mention
the mount Odin gained from me,
the serpent that encircles the world,
the daughter who rules over the dead,
and the wolf that will devour my blood-brother
when all things end.
Very rarely do they think of those other children I sired,
laying with love in the arms of my wife,
begetting two sons within her body,
watching them grow up strong and swift and sound.
When they are mentioned, in learned debates,
it is only as an afterthought:
“He was bound with the entrails of one of his sons,
who was torn apart by the other,
after that one was transformed into a wolf.”
Never more than that.
No one talks about me watching the babes
slide from my beloved’s body,
wet with the fluids that they floated in,
watching them take their…
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