Forgotten Ground Regained
Born of a wolf
Cassidy McFadzean
Like a shallow pond ‧ you peer withinand find a strange ‧ reflection staring,versions of myself ‧ veer to the surface.My habit is peculiar: you’ve probably heardof such troubadours: the travelling minstrelwhose timbres resound ‧ in soothing trills.A booster of morale, his melodies swaddlethe peasants en masse, moved to a stupor.But the barge I rode in ‧ on bore me to rail,not to pacify swarms ‧ or subdue with charms.I was born of a wolf, my ballads a whorlwhich brings no comfort ‧ but those held in cleaving.To swing my blade, singing on whetstone,at man’s deepest pain ‧ or dullest cramp,and cut a keyhole ‧ to his cloisters is my claim.The song I unlocked ‧ will linger inside you:it’s a tag you’ll find ‧ you can’t unfastenand must wear stamped ‧ on your skin instead.You who invite me inside ‧ your esteemed estatesto stand as a humble ‧ servant in your homewill insist ordaining me ‧ your putative hermit.Once was named scop, once was named skald,once scoffed in saga ‧ and scolded in song—I am a shaper of worlds. What am I called?
Copyright © Cassidy McFadzean, 2015
First published in Hacker Packer
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Answer:A poet