At eight, I trace my fingers along cold runestones
The tour guide's voice dissolves into white noise
My brother and I joke about the bearded men in helmets
While playing hopscotch on the cold marble floor
Outside, the snow falls on the streets
the same snow that once covered longships
But I only feel the cold
An obstacle between me and the warmth
of my car seats
In Jotunheimen, we walk among peaks
That giants supposedly called home
But I only feel the cold
An obstacle between me and the warmth
Of gas station hot chocolate
Seven years later, my brother makes me walk
Again through jotunheim
Only this time on his computer screen
I feel my leg getting warm
Resting against his overheating PC
It’s hot.
Here, Thor is red-bearded and a drunk
Odin trading eyes for knowledge
Maybe I could have known this sooner
If I paid attention
to the mountains and the museums
The irony stings: I'm finally interested
In the stories I ignored as a child
I want to return to that museum
Apologize to every runestone, every artifact
I treated as useless
Not worthy of my time
I want to stand there
Understanding every Nordic word
Pressing my hands against the cold
runestones
Until my legs ache
But I'm fifteen now
Norway is an ocean
And several hundred dollars away
So I stay glued to the screen
Pretending the pixels are the same
To what I could've felt in person