Giant Shoes

They say 13 is an unlucky number, always avoided and missed, 
so my giant can’t find shoes to fit with enough room to exist.
Too much reverence for the feminine to be contained
in a size that's tame enough for men to feel safe.
Thirteen inches breaks the ruler, and 13 skies
are too much for tiny gods to synthesize with open eyes.

Twelve apostles and 12 months
are comfortable and easy to comprehend.
Not-too-many rules to bend for little men.
But my giant proves that 13 lives nonetheless,
in his feet who've had enough of playing small,
and in his spirit stretching his heart out
for the shape of The All.

And I am too slight
to be stopped from finding the hidden hour in the night
or in the day, and it keeps him awake sometimes
because he can't help but be a guardian for the plight
of her return, resurrected from the burnings.

A terrible fright is a woman in her power,
but not to my tower.
He's always above the limits of vision that lead to derision.
And those feet carried him to me
one day when I couldn't reach high enough
to find the secret to being free.

And he couldn't see so close to the ground,
so I gathered all the runes I found who spoke his name
and sent them to him on the wind and rain
who made the clouds he adores
because they remind him of home.

So accustomed to not being seen
after his ears grew tired of all the screams,
he couldn't believe he could be loved,
marked by the number of the witch
in a strange world where this
keeps you from heaven's kiss.

But when I saw 13 embossed on the pith of his fruit,
I asked the storm to come light up the runes
I hid in the sky so a glimmer might reach his eyes.
And when it did, he knew who was calling him.
He discovered me eventually, on top of a mountain,
looking up, with 13 winds and 13 moons
and 13 stars at my command.
And he knew then he had a reason
to stand so grand.

So he took my hand and I flew by his side,
I kissed his cheek and he grew to full splendor
with feet unbound in pride.
We searched far and wide for a maker unafraid of size.
We found him shoes at last,
and he put them on to conquer the past.

We are one step closer every day to a new way of life
where people find runes on the earth all the time,
and remember how to fly.
And some become giants from time to time.

Copyright © S. Naify
Art by John Bauer

Author’s Note: Welcome to the new web address for my blog! I changed the name to be more comprehensive for my content, as unicorns (i.e. previous name of unicornspeak) are not for everyone, and there is cause for a more expansive metaphoric symbol for my work. Plus, the poetry collection I am working on has always been the subtitle of this sight: The Language of Creaturehood.

This poem was written during a literature and divination class I took about ancient Anglo Saxon Culture and Runes earlier this month. It was inspired by literally looking for shoes to fit my husband’s feet, and finding them on an auspicious journey to find a new dwelling place for ourselves. We found both the shoes, and a new welcoming land to call home.


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