Penelope the Weaver

Written by Amy Hou from Massachusetts, USA

Weaving—a torturous tribute to her intellect,

each strand rough against her fingertips,

a reminder of the emotional wounds she carries.

The loom creaks under her constant attempts,

the rhythmic sound that mirrors her longing.

As she carefully intertwines the rough strands,

the fabric transforms into a painting of her grief,

each knot a depiction of her heart's agony.

The muted and dismal hues of her tapestry

reflect the shadows that linger in her soul,

a stark contrast to the vibrant life before his departure.

With each passing day, the suitors' expectant

gaze follow her, ignorant that every thread is a whispered

protest against fate.

Her heart, laden with memories,

clings to the brief echoes of his laughter and

the warmth of his embrace.

The hardness of the strands in this work – strength and loneliness.

She weaves a web of hope and sorrow,

a delicate balance of love and longing.

Hers is an expression of unwavering loyalty.

Beneath the surface of her hard work

lies a deep melancholy,

a silent revolt against the world,

and still she weaves

and weaves

and weaves

         and weaves

in the hope that her lover will return

to restore her life’s brilliant colors.