Sewanee Review

She burned the loom eachNight, for heat. But eachMorning it returned

Whole, and draped with aRestless blue fabricA wave's skeleton

The first few morningsIt appeared, she wasSurprised by the wave

She had publiclyVowed she would not lay [End Page 669] Eyes upon the sea

Until her husbandWho even as sheSpoke her vow, perhaps

Lay drowned in the seaReturned. And soon, sheCame to believe the

Wave was sent to herBy the god of wavesTo torment her. One

Of her suitors, anAttractive man, butToo young, had told her

As her husband's slaves [End Page 670] Cleared breakfast from theRoom, of the blinding

Of the Cyclops byNo Man, who she wasSure was her husband

Perhaps the bones withWhich she wove were hisPerhaps she would not

See him again, butInstead would laborAlways, her fingers

Bloodying the blueThreads, at the machineOf her husband's bones [End Page 671]

And so, she thought ofHim, long years intoHis absence, as his

Slaves stuffed the loom, itsHollow parts, the gapsIn its workings, with

Straw, as she watched themBend, who could not chooseHow to use their strength [End Page 672]

    Two workers, one on either side of the hole, pull        The ladder through. The hole is square, two    Feet by two feet, one story off the groundCut in a fence between two buildings.    They are there to

    Make sure the ladder doesn't slip and vanish        Into the darkness past the blinking    Edge of the light cast    by the caged bulb, where hellHas sometimes been,    to feed the ladder to the thin king

    Who eats the world. They do not watch the hole        They do not watch the worker who    Hands up the silvery ladder, but the ladderItself, the gleam it bears    from the light it passes through [End Page 673]