Archaeological Poem

A Viking Woman Speaks Out of the Grave

For more than a century, you looked at me, that is,

My remains, and you assumed, fools that you are,

I was a Viking warrior.  Why? Some weapons,

Some pieces of armour, a figure that was quite spare,

And that must mean a male, a hero, a sepulchre,

All attributes of patriarchy—what is

This prejudice that came into the world? Not here

In the shadows I have left around me, high-born woman,

Raised to hunt and sail, protect and conquer when needed.

Bear children? Of course, I did, more than ever man

Concerned himself with, foolish being, beaded

Up with rings of steel, long-haired louts, who ran

Away from battles. I cut a swathe, as I breeded ,

Lived to the utmost, a full and glorious span.