Thursday

Thursday
Caitlin Johnson

Thunderbolt
on a summer night–
you entered the bar, Thor to my eyes,
struck my brain with your hammer-look
as I sat, blonde Sif,
almost goddess by your grace.

I brought you mead,
allowed you to feast in my wheat fields.

Later the flames were reduced
to heat lightning–
noiseless, leaving your fingerprints
across my sky.

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