I was a cobbler in the house of the Gods.
It took a lot of anonymous people
to make the mountain what it was.
I did not make swords, axes, or bolts
of lightning. I stretched leather until
it fit comfortably on the feet of the divine.
I made sandals for the Champion of War.
I did my work, then went home. I never
fought in His campaigns, but the skulls
that were crushed beneath his heel sometimes
made a sound. It was not like thunder.
It was quiet. Dead leaves.
My name. Wind through dry grasses.
Copyright © 2025 by Matthew Olzmann. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 11, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
