The Golmyrie
Jane made a wish that was big as the stars,
on the day that the Golmyrie passed by her town.
The wish was for Father to make it back whole,
and Jimmie and Ted too (if God would be kind).
Jane’s wish never came. But the Golmyrie did.
The root of the word? Maybe glōm, perhaps gloam.
The meaning is ‘dusk’, or ‘the time before dark’.
Though Jane didn’t know that – how would she have known that? –
the twilight was out as she made for the stream,
brushing corn with her fingers and listening for owls.
Such a trip was forbidden, Jane’s Nana would scold.
Jane thought she might hear, Hie! Back in the house!
There’s needlework waiting! That pot wants a stir!
But Nana was tireder than usual these days, which was why
Jane was used to odd nights out of doors. War will age men
like nothin’ else, old soldiers say. This is true. Also true is that
war will make women of girls left behind. Men forget this.
Bring Father back, Jane thought, approaching the stream.
She was holding her breath, all the better for wishing.
Bring him back safe and smiling. And Jimmie besides.
And our Ted, who has freckles like mine, and can’t whistle.
All the men who are gone, bring ‘em back to our town.
So she thought, and exhaled. Gripping tightly the coin that
she’d chosen for wishing (for a copper would spend well with Fate,
she’d been told), Jane did kiss the dull metal – took a brief aim –
And a splash there was – there! – in the cool rush of water.
A woman was there, too. A woman who watched her.
Jane saw her. She smiled; the smile was peculiar.
She was tall, thought Jane, taller than many a woman.
And old, with long hair to her waist. It was silver.
She wore a pale shift and no shoes. “Are you here for a wish?”
asked the woman, her voice just a whisper. An owl’s voice,
or like it. Jane nodded. “A copper. I wished on a copper coin, Lady.”
She curtsied, though could not have told any soul why she’d done it.
“And what was it for?” asked the woman, still gently. But Jane
knew this trick and she shook her head, frowning. “I can’t tell.
Your pardon, Missus, if I say it – then I know it won’t come,
and the wish’ll be wasted.” She shivered. The wind had not risen,
but still a distinct wintry feeling touched Jane’s neck and shoulders.
She wanted to cry for her Father and brothers.
And thinking of them set her lips to a-trembling.
The Golmyrie’s great wings unfolded before her.
Jane wept. So the Golmyrie drank of her tears
with its beak. Its thirst ended, the Golmyrie turned
and went – walking – away down a path you or I
could not notice. Away towards the fighting.
For there was still fighting.The Golmyrie knows not the meaning of grief.
But it cares for the flavour.
Need more tales from the other side? We’ve got plenty at the MockingOwl Roost!
- Life After Death – Poetry
- Graveyard in the Attic – Fiction
- Transcendence – Flash Fiction
- Beware the Hungry Child and Its Mother – Flash Fiction
- The Banquet – Flash Fiction
- Dandelion Garden – Poetry
- Sleep Paralysis Demon or Religious Trauma? – Flash Fiction
- Selling Books – Fiction