MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 21
PENELOPE
by Penny Beretta
All my life I woveWords, songs, whispers of old,
It didn’t matter what, because the action was all I needed.
To feel the wool running through my fingers
Like a story, Like a heartbeat.
I wove the truth,
And I wove my marriageI loved the thread of it running through my fingers,
Loved watching him move with me, the way it was.
And now you come
With your sharp swords, like scissors to cut thread,
And your voices and eyes and h a n d s ,
And you desecrate these halls,
And step over my tapestries, like cadavers in the dark.
And who is there to save me?
My husband lies a sea away,
In the arms of women who weave magic instead of yarn
And my son is young, too youngHis voice doesn’t have the pull of his father’s.
All I have is darkness, and quiet,
And my ageing hands,
Stumbling
Over the needle.
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