Page 6 - After Waterhouse
P. 6
Penelope
Her back to the suitors
Penelope sits at her loom;
the mouth that recalls Odysseus' lips
is momentarily bridled with a wool strand as she bites off its length.
Her vermilion chiton, white skin, ebony hair swept back to a chignon
invite the lingering, almost enchanted, gaze.
Her immediate surroundings,
wooden beams and rose-tinted clothing, carpet,
divide into shadow and light;
counterbalanced by the reel of un-dyed wool,
the pale shroud trails away from Penelope to the framed window.
It is only beyond, through the windows to the sea,
that light-infused buildings and blue
interrupt the gloom.
Her ears (attentive to the messages of seafarers)
will not listen to the lyre.
A suitor's meaningless flowers drop petals
on the patterned carpet.
The dado behind her, its fresco below these four suitors,
depicts a battle the indolent men have never known …
Weaving a stratagem, weaving delay
she names it the shroud of her husband's father, Lord Laërtês.
Daily, she weaves steadfastness into the dissembling warp,
men consume and defile her household.
The lamp gleams
for months she pulls threads from the cloth ...
