T H E E N D C O M M U N E

Poem to Æthelflæd (870―917)

Æthelflæd, your breasts are mountains!
      the spirit of resistance in you,
      how it may never rest or withdraw

      or cease to hope the good hope!
      hurry! beautiful defendress!

   you, matrix of resilience,

   patroness of the martyred!

     take up your sword―

     that which kills the Norsemen.

 hungry storms yawn on the horizon;
 the ocean has teeth of steel and vengeance...        

 Æthelflæd: kiss our swords, for we are weary;
 the waves are short and ragged this dusk,
 how they wage a war on the mud-rock

 and on the sands of our shores

 of our fathers’ home!

   you, saint, foresee the dark night:
   shall the sea-vipers of the north arrive

   from the heathen-lands,
   or may we sleep a single hour?
        

      just tell us when to prepare

          and we shall die for you.

warrioress queen Æthelflæd,

you are all that you never wanted to be,
yet you are all that you ever could be.

come, you:

   feel beneath your skin

   the uprush of wilder, jubilant energies.
   shoot the religious phenethylline into your veins.
   burst out with war, lead the way,

   tonight, they come...
   we can see it in your eyes!

             tonight, war.

              and love.