(The Morrígan)

If I could lean on a limb of yours
broken away and cast from your body –

a good solid limb, stripped of its old bark
and bearing brown scaled skin underneath –

then my legs would never give way,
and neither would my heart. If one queen
brought her husband to health underneath your uplifted arms,
then why can I not seek healing at your feet? I need relief
from the slow centuries still settled into my shoulders.
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