Athena Agon Entry 1

“Arachne Pending”
Shannon Connor Winward

Sticky cords spun around my wrists
and throat     wrapped

stuck
in the threads of the Weaver.

Her web a warm, snug prison
every time the wind blows, I sway.

It will all be
okay.

I am dancing
above the ground

my body pulses,     silk
gestating in my belly

pain is invisible     perfect
seeping from my

chastened fingers, humbled joints
blessed even to tie a knot

let alone a symphony, touch
a blade of grass

a telephone pole
waiting

to tell you I understand now
Lady     what beauty is.

This poem first appeared in Eternal Haunted Summer.