Brisings
Robert E. Stutts
I wore you around my neck
like Freyja’s golden necklace,
a glittering ornament
I kept hidden under
the collar of my flannel shirt,
panicked that someone else
might notice the intricacy
of such craftsmanship
and want to wear you.
But I ignored Loki’s presence—
Mischief marched through my rooms
at midnight, his nimble fingers
a gilded sigh upon
the delicate clasp.
Whispering away from me,
the beads of the necklace
scattered across the floor
into the corner shadows
where not even daylight
could find them.
