So there she is, barely glimpsed
through the vapor curls,
taking her bath, washing away
the old magics.
Alone among the women,
their long dugs and crackling faces,
she laughs at their aches,
gnashes her iron teeth.
Says nothing about the weather,
the latest marriages, how many calves
were born without horns,
or girls become boys over the winter.
Instead she counts the minutes
till she can be back in her hut
without having to endure
more village gossip.
Where she can think about eternity,
the energy of maidens,
and the salty sweetness
of a naughty boy’s flesh.
Jane Yolen’s 370th published book is about to come out. She sends out poems to journals on a regular basis and has quite a few in sf/fantasy magazines as well. She is a Grand Master of SFPA (Science Fiction/Fantasy Poets of America), as well as a Grandmaster of SFWA and World Fantasy Assn. She has won the Nebula two times, Mythopoeic Award three times, and been nominated (but never won) for the Hugo several times. Six colleges & universities have given her honorary doctorates for her body of work.