Penelope's Weaving

every day Penelope weaves — huphaino —

suitors, flaunting their hubris, wait like dogs

for her finished cloth, the pause wherein

she will choose — oh, likely they praise

the story she weaves, even her colors

while rowdy they swill at the household’s

plenty, feed until blind with overdose

fail to notice her unpickings — humnos —

hymns she fashions by day dissolve by night

the dreams fade as the dissolutes awake

dull bestial forms sentenced to pose

& bluster, tricked by her faultless song

who lives the fuller life? Odysseus?

lured & snared like all men, or Penelope?

boundlessly creating — cat, fox, swift

on clever paws, various weeds flower

on both sides of a wake the water is still

[Let's say you forgot me]

by Susan Laughter Meyers

Let's say you forgot me —

no, not forgot: were unable to reach,

one of us out of the country,

say, me this time

writing in France, I put down line

after line, shapes anyone could make

something out of,

black ink on cream paper, waiting for you

to call. Your phone, my phone,

somebody's phone isn't working.

My thoughts are growing remote,

and the words come to me

in a language I can't translate.

Weeks pass, as weeks will do.

My handwriting becomes illegible

and the ink is starting to fade.