Mushroom Soup

Mushroom Soup
© Surazeus
2018 12 02

The little girl in the white lace dress hums
as she walks slowly through the silent woods,
then stops and gazes at rays of sunbeams
that glitter through the green-leaf canopy.

"I hear the angel sing, come play with me,
so I follow his wing, through laughing tree,
down to this strange new world where children play
where the dragon lies curled, so I will stay."

"I want to stay here forever, far from home
where my mother sits at the table, mute
and blind as if she no longer sees me,
though I remember how she sang sweet words."

The boy, wearing wolf fur cloak, takes her hand,
and she shows him the cottage where she lives,
she they hide in shadows by the stone wall,
and he looks in the window at the scene.

"I remember your mother long ago
when she was beautiful with long gold hair,
how she twirled singing among blooms of spring,
and gave us apples every day to eat."

She peers through the window of her dark home,
and sees her mother sitting at the table,
hands and legs bound by ropes to the wood chair,
and the strange man hits her face with his fast.

Long hair once so beautiful, shining gold,
now hangs limp around her bruised bloody face,
and she turns and looks straight into her eyes,
so the girl gasps at sight of wretched horror.

The tall man appears around the house corner
and laughs, "Brida, why are you so afraid?
Your mother and I are hungry for some soup.
Find mushrooms and cook hot soup for our supper."

Brida hunts on river shore in dark woods,
stepping over rotting logs veiled with moss,
and plucks mushrooms that bloom from rotting muck,
then walks across wet field in evening mist.

Stirring thick soup that bubbles in brass cauldron,
Brida hums strange heart-aching melody
of solemn eeriness, then dips wood ladle
to fill large bowl with simmering mushroom soup.

The tall man drinks thick soup from silver bowl
and wipes his lips with satisfied desire,
then unties her mother and leads her stiff
to lie down on top of her on the bed.

Listening to three ravens on thick branch
of the ancient apple tree by the cottage,
Brida notes sound of him grunting with pleasure,
but smiles when he groans in sharp agony.

The tall man writhes on agony of pain,
falling on the floor as he thrashes wildly,
then screams in horror from large gaping mouth
as he stares at her while she stares at him.

Brida opens the door on moon-white night,
so Cynewulf drags his body outside,
and leaves him rotting in the latrine ditch
while she pours the mushroom soup on his corpse.

Slouching by the door, Cynewulf keeps watch
while Brida washes wounds on gentle face
of her mother who opens silver eyes
and stares at her like the owl in the oak.

Waking at dawn after seven long days,
her mother sits up and looks at her hands,
then gazes surprised at her little daughter
who leaps into her tender arms and cries.