Ragnar Two Ax
How to describe him,
the he that was so much a part of me
but for such a short while
brawn.
The span of his shoulders
as they stretched across his un-ironed flannel plaid.
The wedge shaped fan of his finger nails,
always a bit black;
even though, by God, he tried.
Locks drew him,
puzzles, pleased him,
whiskers became him.
And the blue of his eyes
was Dresden
bringing back memories of the Irish Sea.
Suren, his kin seemed for all intents and purposed
to be shan ti Irish
and not lace curtain Irish at all.
Who would want all that thin,
untried blood anyway,
when you could have a true mans-man
with forearms like tree boughs
with a heart so big, his laughter
seemed to crack his face
at the corner of his eyes.
A taunt man
who you didn’t mind seeing
coming or going
who wore a slouched felt hat,
threw long-handles axes
and carried a long bow.
*names have not been changed to protect the innocent
no one's innocent here ;)
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