my marriage the differential of him over me
the cube roots of nothing makes sense—
two negatives multiplied worked for a while
throw in the curves of painted rooms
shopping trips, holding close then closer
tricky math doesn’t give a when or where—
I’m coming apart like a sweater, a season
snipped too close at the knot
a French seam carelessly bound
geometrically irregular, like cancer creeps
spilled jam, sticky fruit juice
I’m wasted to my day—useless to myself
celebrations made uneasy by missing the point
screwing up turns, mistaking stay for leave
and bring for take
I’m a machine-stitched hem gone crooked
something vertically unsaid
Penelope, unravel my brain, this damned carpet
hurts me; the pattern of scratchy rejection
lovers in cold constellations orbiting like dogs
Penelope, did he console you
beg you overlook his dalliance with sirens
bacchanalian guy stuff with grapes and gorgons
you tied his name into your weft as error
a prayer to your household Gods
my gods give me code
the square footage of plane wings
empty apartments, apart
I measure out string to weave
reweave to conceal imperfections
nod to the planetary bodies lying, barking
Penelope, you waited so nobly for word
any sign, as you stayed and stayed
wearing your crown in your castle
demons be gone—
if you are human be gone
only solitude is mine
this sitting at the loom
weaving choice and time
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