A rough draft today—this may undergo some major editing in the future. Line lengths need trimming and repositioning, and I want to add more detailed descriptions.

Today’s prompt became the start of a new myth. I’ve long considered the life-and-death yin-yang nature of Iduna and Hel(a). There are no attestations that these two ever met. Hela stays in Niflheim, “hell,” and I’m not sure any of Loki’s children with the giantess Angrboda ever visited Asgard, or if they were even allowed to.

This poem may read queer-coded; you are welcome to interpret it that way. While my headcanon is that Iduna is staunchly loyal to her husband, that doesn’t mean other stories can’t be explored. I want to branch out from the apple orchard limits of Brunnaker in Asgard. I want to give my goddess room to…well, explore!

Poem prompt: “Our resource today is Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum, where you can find a smug ceramic pelican, a samurai’s ceremonial suit of armor, and a photograph of the French impressionist painter Camille Pissarro dressed as a Venezuelan herdsman.

And now for our daily optional prompt. The surrealist painters Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington moved to Mexico during the height of World War II, where they began a life-long friendship. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem themed around friendship, with imagery or other ideas taken from a painting by Carrington, and a painting by Varo.”

[Leonora Carrington’s art is exquisite and so inspiring for my theme this month! I chose “Le Fruit Défendu” or “Forbidden Fruit” to inform my piece. Image can be seen below.]

Healing Hela

The world serpent wraps his slick side around Midgard 
weaving and wreathing his way up from Hel.
Wards keep him at bay at the edge of the waves 
yet his fangs threaten the rainbow bridge. 
 
Iduna senses an enemy is tightening his grip, 
but he isn't her enemy. 
She of eternal balance sneaks out 
the poet's room at night 
to jump the bridge like a slide,
arms up with a gleeful cheer 
at the speed, the twists and turns 
of this supernatural roller coaster 
as she makes her way down 
towards her dark counterpart. 
 
Spindly spider branches entwine across a chasm  
to cast shadow on a cobalt river frozen in temp and time.  
What light that is able to sprinkle down reveals  
a rainbow of pink, aqua, and emerald in the layers 

of halted flow. Hela, 
with an iced basket strapped to her back, 
boosts herself with the serpent’s tail 
tucked in her corner of glacial shadows, 
and she climbs her brother's body 
away from the congealed concealed place. 
 
They meet where the scales' girth stretches 
widest above the water, 
what humans think is an island of the Azores. 
Iduna reveals an apple from her sleeve 
like a magician summoning a hidden coin. 
Hela accepts the afterlife offering 
from one who will never pass into her realm. 
A gift holds more gold than a debt of equal weight. 
 
They sit together, Hela's pallid yet living arm 
brushing against Iduna's creamy shoulder, 
bare in her silken gold sleepwear. 
The maiden giggles, then leans in to place a kiss 
 
Hela expects. She turns her ruddy cheek 
into the young valkyrie's lips 
feeling the life flow from that blossom   
and from the apple in her stomach. 
Revitalized, 
Hela knows what comes next 
as the smile turns solemn 
and Iduna holds up petite hands 
—the one hint at her dwarven heritage. 
 
Fingernails dig into rotting sinew,  
press hard to soggy bone. 
Iduna pushes her hands around the zygomatic 
in the shape of a Christian's prayer 
and steals Hela's breath, 
nearly all of her soul, all of the life left  
until Loki's gray is all that remains. 
Hela’s dead half almost collapses  
like a scabbard against legs 
without the sword sheathed. 
 
Iduna kisses Hela's rosy right cheek again, 
trying her best to keep the underworld goddess inhaling. 
Hela disregards the pain of a living death, 
reaching her blooded hand full of flesh aglow  
to caress the girl's hair. 
She knows this all is necessary. 
She can't hate her for that. 
She loves this girl. 
Without her, Hela could not go on. 
 
They eat frozen berries and smoked herring 
in silence 
full of desire, 
full of knowledge, 
full of a sad sort of hope
that Hela’s ice rink hall
will hold the joy of figure skaters
at the end of it all.