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Invitation to a Mere Human
(© Karen Emanuelson)

If the Gods let me come
visit with them instead
of just speak: Me with
thoughts, them with signs,

I would drink mead with Freya.
She’d give me an armor plated
bodice like hers. Showing cleavage
we’d be ready for battle or love.

We’d go for a ride to Colorado Springs
in her cat-drawn chariot, throw rocks
at folks driving cars with stupid bumper stickers
and fish, let them shake their fists.

We’d hit the bars, leaving the chariot
in the parking lot. We’d drink beer from horns.
Laugh, tell bawdy stories, pick up men
for an hour, maybe more.

When we finished with them
we’d toss them to the Valkryies,
let them sort out our mess.
We’d sing loud songs of mead

and heroes on the lawns of big box homes
near Focus on the Family. The cats chase
a tight-lipped man who complains. We’d plant
yucca in his bluegrass lawn, thistle, too.

Freya, ever glorious, glitters with diamond
hair red like the sunrise, gold as the moon.
She is tall and strong. In the middle of town,
we’d dance naked in an ornamental fountain.

Homeless war veterans cheer. They’d tell Freya
their stories, images flashing across
their eyes. Lost warriors would pet Freya’s
fierce cats, feed them scraps of day-old pizza

saved for a special occasion. The cats purr in
and out, same as Mountain Lions.

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Last Update: Sunday, January 6, 2008