Old Norse, meaning to squeal
The squall rose sudden, shrieking
accusations to starboard, hurling
salt-soaked sheets, whirling
coiled rope to serpent, lashing
dawn from darkness
Sea-streaming Furies surfaced maleficent:
Ahoy Sailor! Reef your sails! Sink your temptress! Fling Jonah to the sea!
A recording of skvala can be heard on this short video.
Author Anne Farrer is a poet, essayist and self-proclaimed critic-at-large. She lives by the sea and dreams about a certain crow.
When you dream your teeth are falling out like crumbled almonds what do you do? You write a poem about it and post it on your website.
A visual poem about the medicine of cedar weaving seeping in, under the fingernails and into the heart.
A poem about one-sided communication and the pain that no one sticks around to see.
With respect and acknowledgement that I work and reside on the unceded traditional territory of the K’ómoks First Nation, the traditional keepers of this land.
© Anne Farrer 2023 All rights reserved.
