On the wall, a spider frames
each scene in silver thread.
The girl on the floor takes the light from the room,
weaves a tapestry of dread.
Colored threads on her lap and her hands
in her head a lutist plays
a melody of dusk and gloom,
a scale in purple shades.
And the spider hums along
(Arachne long and gone)
as she weaves her delicate web
of knots and memories.
The girl on the floor gathers the gray,
the green, the amber too,
casts the shuttle, colors in hand,
a bouquet of subdued hues.
The spider dances along the seams
of the newly woven world
of dreams forgotten, of a city cast
in olive branches and gold.
Adding a dust, along the edge
with a choice bit of string,
the spider remembers and the girl forgets
the vines that weave in spring.
The spider remembers love and loss,
the artist (young, enchanted).
The girl, the maiden, from time ago
who sought a place not granted.
And the girl on the floor takes the spider’s thread,
weaves a tapestry of remembrance,
of beauty and lust, of bones turned to dust
of a spider’s repentance.
Author notes
I've always been captivated by the myth of Arachne and wondered what the girl was really thinking.
A contest entry
- Stories of Ancient Greece by Sounds-Like-This.
700 points, ended October 16, 22 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Lovely
Beautiful collection of words beautifully assembled, and a Classical Scholar to boot! And one whose profile rejoices in the ordinary and the normal! Phew!
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Oh, very well-penned! A great story, and lovely images "woven" throughout! I enjoyed reading this very much.
Lita
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This was a very good poem. I love how you portrayed Arachne as she was, but still gave her human qualities of when she was alive. Great job!
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