First you shear the sheep.
You’ll need lots of wool, so that men
can’t follow what you are doing.
Always spin your own thread,
go slow. Even the Fatae,
Night’s own weird daughters,
work for years
to get to the shroud.
Set your dyes to match
the living room, not
the bedroom. Take time off
on Thursdays or Saturdays,
make your suitors move
furniture: shift a sofa,
hang a picture, haul away a bed.
When you warp the loom, be
certain of the tension. Keep them
at each other’s throats
for as long as you can.
In the weaving, strive
for perfection. Unravel and redo
as much as you can.
And when your errant husband returns,
chases the others away, asks you
to come to bed, go ahead and tell him:
Yes, dear, as soon as
I finish this bit of weaving.
This poem originally appeared in Heavy Bear, Issue 3.
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