1.

Down her shoulders
streams Sif’s golden
hair, rapunzels along
her lovely back, off
silky covers, pooling
on the wooden floor.

Tell it now, sleeping
beauty goddess, Loki
skipping sparrow hot,
wakeful in the wicked
night, handfuls of
honey hair dripping
from his shears.

2.

In the morning she is
bald and pissed.  Tears
scar her pretty face.

All day red‑ear Loki
winds his dark way down
to black dwarves’ hall.
They drink and gamble
with the knuckle bones
of pigs.

Lucky Loki wins a
spear, a boat, new hair
of hammered gold,
flesh‑seeking roots
guaranteed to grow.

3.

“Let it ride,” yells
Loki, bets his handsome
head no dwarves can top
these gifts.

Horsefly‑Loki flits and
stings, draws blood
from hand and head and
eye.

Still, the dwarves win.
“My head, but not my
neck,” reasons law‑book
Loki, and sweet Sif

pulls from her needlework
bag leather strips, serpent
tough, long as giants’
legs, rough as fire‑flint.

In torchlight, against
walls of shining
shields her golden hair
glitters.

Dwarf awls tear, needles bind
her secret behind
Loki’s humble
lips.

[Steve Klepetar teaches literature, myth and creative writing at Saint Cloud State University.  His work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.  Flutter Press has just released his latest chapbook, My Father Teaches Me a Magic Word.]