Today is the anniversary of my adopted mom’s death. I will be writing more about this in the evening, but I wanted to share this for her now. Someone contacted my friend Raven Kaldera and commissioned him to write a poem about my mom, as a gift to me. I am very grateful and can think of no one more worthy to be memorialized with the gift and grace of poetry. This woman, unassuming as she may have seemed, was a powerhouse and she transformed my world, sustaining me, teaching me, and giving me life as only a mother could. i am so profoundly grateful for the time we had together. Ich habe dich unendlich gern, Mutti, auf Zeit und Ewigkeit.
Loki’s Pride, Sigyn’s Joy
by Raven Kaldera
(Dedicated to Fuensanta Plaza, as a gift for her daughter Galina.)
Daughter of dwarven delving,
Granddaughter of gleaming gold,
Linked to the Old World and the New,
Stern-eyed ascetic one moment,
Drunk and laughing the next,
No child of your body
But an ancestress of many,
Mystic prostrate before many Gods
Who advised us all on cleaning products,
The riddle that was you
Wove in and out of our lives
Like the brisk salt wind from the sea
Cutting through the fog of everyday life.
Daughter of fire and endurance,
You were the first to hold the bowl
For the grieving goddess,
The second to hail the Waves
By name and by number,
The third I knew who’d seen Flame-Hair
In his hungriest, neediest form.
No one would have guessed you for
A devotee of the trickster,
Yet the quiet changes you made
To the lives of those you touched
Witness a deft hand and a deft word
Worthy of his sharp-eyed subtlety.
Child of breaking and mending,
Your equally sharp eyes saw flaws
And cracks in the faces of many,
And sometimes you stepped forth to mend
In the way that you knew best,
A not-faery godmother with a magic wand
Made of gold, and sometimes you simply
Raised an eyebrow and a scorching word.
You’d earned the freedom and the right
To do as you pleased, when you pleased,
And no longer needed to prove
Anything to anyone, Lady Putztoefel.
May we all remember that courage,
All the way to the bitter end,
Which you chose, thoughtfully
And with careful consideration,
Leaving little to chance or fate.
You were an iron anchor of belief,
And you would have died for all
You believed in, passionately.
Yours was a belief as strong
As that of a woman who could sit
With her beloved for a thousand years,
Watch his torment, and never think
Of leaving that dark, dank cave.
May we all remember that courage
When we are pelted with public opinion,
Like an iron bowl that can withstand
A thousand years of dripping venom.
May we remember how little you allowed
The cries of fools to sway your decisions,
And may we be inspired to hold our lines
And quietly honor what it is ours to honor
In spite of all the noises of the world.