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