My Myth

Updated: Mar 19

may I tell you a myth

I heard long ago


fields plucked into hazy, shallow ocean green

air heavy

voluptuous

wisps of fingers

pressed

down onto shoulders

rugged stone pavilion

jagged pebbles calloused feet

white cotton slipped and swayed over

bronzed shoulders

fluttered over bare toes


I sit between arachne and athena’s

our looms

mighty steeds

purr between us

maybe they’re sphinx

gold fur shimmering


I collapse myself into the legend

smoothing out the edges

the collision of two women

told by history as too proud for their own good

I never it saw it that way


because I always forget the ending

always lost in the image


one goddess

one woman

and me


posed with yarn

ductile rainbows

nestled between fingertips


did they blow a horn

a conch shell

the manipulation of a harp


and then we started


I’ve never been trained with a loom

tangled tapered tapestries

toppling into royal hands


but I do know words

how my vocabulary takes form

as rolls of multicolored string

each woven between my knuckles


I know a pen resembles a

loom if you tilt it into a

certain light


that they're both built to accomplish the same task

to tell stories

weave into color

to sweep hands over

and learn from


when corporeal body sits at desk

how my mind rests before

athena

nimble interruptions between string and yarn


I know it is a story about pride

about women pushing other women

down

about spite and revenge

about the genesis of spiders

I know arachne

and arachnids

I know spiders have always scared me

And yet I am fascinated by their webs

I know

Because beneath the myth

I pulled a string

and creativity unfurled


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