Penelopiad by Louise Crossley


Meshed with goat-bruised thyme,
familiar names of unknown women
are freighted on a salt-tanged breeze,
and the tumble of surf-washed pebbles
echoes the ‘clink’ of restless weights
weft-tied at the loom.

Ever, draught-borne, in my ear,
those faceless others pulse
as the surf-sucked shores
of your distant idylls.

One who weaves ephemera:
visceral illusions.
One whose siren threads tie
in suffocating domesticity.
One who is not yet bound;
who is too young to weave.

All pattern to the ever-moving weft of you
as I shuttle threads in familiar measure:
dutifully fashion a parent’s shroud.

And when, wracked and salt-weary,
you pass once more over this threshold
I will hip-shut the door on what has gone
and be thankful for the time
when I am less loom;
you less seas.

Louise Crossley is admin for both Poetry Swindon Festival and The Interpreter’s House magazine poetry competition.  She has been published on Amaryllis, The Stare’s Nest, and Peony Moon poetry blogs and in The Interpreter’s House and Prole magazines. She is a complete nerd about all things related to the Trojan War.  She lives in the Cotswolds with a cat, two chickens and a bit of an attitude.

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