Prayer to Skaði the Slayer

by Thomas Sullivan

I sing of Her Who courses through the darkness

and in Her hand the arc of Yew, turned to endings,

and upon her back the shafts that lust for blood.

icy trees

Lady, You are swift in Your coming,

You pierce me with eyes as grey as midwinter cloud;

Yours is the sleet that stings my brow,

Yours the pitiless joy of the she-wolf in triumph,

Yours the jolt of a breaking neck.

I praise that daughter, wronged in violence,

who stalked the very Lords of Ásgarð,

and won as wergild a seat in Their councils forever.

Howl, howl, northern blast and freezing gale,

and galdr the good mægen of your Queen and Mistress.

And as for me, I hail You, Skaði,

and beseech You not for mercy but for strength,

to tread the trails of life with back unbowed,

and know my death more closely than a lover.

My everything within me that is unworthy of my soul

perish at Your hand, one by one.