Icelandic
the weight over both our heads is Katla
where the glacier’s massive shield is
wedged among snowy peaks, impaled
under the sky like a spell on a nail
the mare’s mane is brown and falls
coarse on both sides of her neck
grittily her blue hooves sink
into riverbank stone and gravel
she lowers her head to look. I let the reins
run and at once she steps out into the glacial
river. Both her forelegs slide down a hidden
stony shelf and she lunges, with purpose
into the bright water. I follow her sway
with the small of my back
lift up my legs against
her sides, like in the photographs
in the museum, all those farmers raising
their monochrome, gaitered legs
along thick-furred flanks
as their horses waded and splashed
right now the river covers my mare’s knees
and drags at her. The current funnels blue
and fast around her, creates a moment’s vertigo
when I can’t tell if she’s being forced
downstream or if it’s just my mind
that’s running out to sea
If you are lost
in an Icelandic forest
stand up,
they say, and true, some
trees are only waist-high
thicket and not wood
but tonight these birches
are true forest
they climb the steepness
of sky above us
bend their dark crowns
down on us
we step quick and careful
losing height through
tangled roots that
rib the path
make narrow
staircases that turn
on ruckled landings
light is really going now
we descend descend
the mountain
and at ease, ahead of us
a redwing hops
we follow it down
we scramble fast
against the night
within the month
it’ll follow us
and migrate south
just now in the near-
dark
it leads the way
______
In 2021 Jean Atkin published ‘Fan-peckled’ (Fair Acre Press) and ‘The Bicycles of Ice and Salt’ (Indigo Dreams). Her poetry has won competitions, been commissioned, anthologised, and featured on BBC Radio 4. She was BBC National Poetry Day Poet for Shropshire 2019. She works as a poet in education and community.