Penelope At Her Loom Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

heroic virtue was to stay behind

weaving the same threads over time

then most of all, unweaving.


but in the book I understand

heroic virtue in that man

was leaving.


gold in the honey

amber chimes;

the waves caesura


in her mind

reminding her of all of Time

and all of Time, is grieving.


who would that adventure choose

weaving love up in her room

unweaving it again.


yet still, love proving,

until then


having so much to pretend

and no one no one to defend


her seeming lack of household skill

her fortress against every will

to unweave her.


basting and unbasting still

I think of her

I always will


beyond the clash of steel and verve

the mariners, the sea's wild curve

the house in ruins and still she weaves


stalwart beyond every seam and meaning

of the world's reversals, queen.

and love itself dreamed and undreamed


relentlessly. I don't know how

she kept through anguished epochs

such a vow.



mary angela douglas 8 december 2019