Blue-skinned veiled one, Queen of Wind and Winter Bringer of snow-thunder and protector of the hungry wolves, she comes unbidden wrapped in robes with button-skulls and fur trim, takes the wand of Ruler from the Autumn Crone and turns her one-eyed wrinkled face upon the rocky land to summon snow and exhale icy lace upon the window panes that rattle. Her gift is Cold that steals your toes blackens nose and fingertips and earlobes leaves you burning numb and yet her subtle mercy grants you one last warmth beneath her blanket white beside her blue shore.
Cailleach, we do not call you but we praise you fear you thank you for the rest you bring to earth, time for bears to sleep, for freezing ponds that carry frogs to springtime. For candlelight on glitter-snow for blood on white for Holly gift of Helle and for your breath the blizzard, grey grandmother’s touch that tells us Close your coat and Draw your cloak around you as she recounts the tale of death and beauty, seed and stone.
Wren Donovan
Published in Ink Drinkers Poetry, Issue #4 Folklore, Fall 2021