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Last Simile

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It’s as if she were an earn,
                                                                   gebidende prey for her eyrie.

Perched alertly,
                                                                   a hægtesse on their innards.

In bitter morgenceald,
                                                                   her hoar-glittered feathers.

Suddenly she sees
                                                                   a fox on the westene.

At that she rouses,
                                                                   heaved up on high,

and heads straight at him,
                                                                   in harrowing hæste.

Hearing her, he freezes
                                                                   his tail. He’s terrified.

Sees, bestelð,
                                                                   with ēagan flashing,

talons overtake him,
                                                                   dash him down in torment,

overtake him again,
                                                                   swengeð him on the eorðan.

One yelp as she pincers his liver.
                                                                   Wyrd—pierces aorta.

Source: Poetry (June 2011)

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This poem originally appeared in the June 2011 issue of Poetry magazine

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Last Simile

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