A Poem by Laura Varnam

Her Wordhoard

She calls me Feorsið, Far-Travelling.
(I’m trying to work out if it’s ironic.)
I’m the Queen’s Mind. I objected
to Handmaiden; after all, it’s not
my hands that are at her service.
When the king’s poet was poached
by a neighbouring tribe – the lawless
thieving bastards! – at first the men
wouldn’t entertain me. We get enough
nagging at home! But when I unlocked
my wordhoard, trotted out the old
familiar tales, they settled back in their
seats. Give them lopped-off body parts
and they soon feel at home. What’s a
legend without beheadings, I always say.
And they began to listen when I sang
of sea-voyages and mere-maidens,
of queens made of gold and dragons
who ruled the roost, of lands where
warrior women wielded spears not
spindles... Outlandish, they scoffed,
but still they sat as my new words
filled their ears like sea water in a shell –
dreich, eldritch, fettlin’ and flaggin’,
barmcake, boggart, buggered – pipe down,
you daft ha’porth. This is women’s
talk and we won’t be silenced now.
Time unfolds before me like a
telescope to the stars and for a
second I can see you – yes, you, here,
in this poem... Cross-legged at the
Queen’s feet, her niece hangs
on my every word. Greedy,
she seizes my battle-bright swords,
armours herself in my shield-wall of
daring. I call her Ellen, meaning
courage. And when we return on the
tide, trailing stories like seaweed,
palming a pearl or two, I know that
together we’ve travelled far.

Laura Varnam is the Lecturer in Old and Middle English Literature at University College, Oxford. Her poetry is inspired by the texts that she teaches, in particular the Old English epic Beowulf. She has been published in After…Poetry, Atrium, Crow of Minerva, Dear Reader Poetry, Dreich, Green Ink Poetry, Ink, Sweat & Tears, MIR Online, Osmosis Press, and The Oxford Magazine. A selection of her Beowulf poetry and a creative-critical essay was recently published in the academic journal postmedieval.