The Needleworker
Chiffon in my lap, silver needle in hand,
Night spreading round me, the silence expands.
He of the warriors alone makes a vow
To come back to me by his helm and his bow.
I with this needle, he with his word
Yearn for the time we can sleep without stir.
But he, lost in waves, and I, lost in memory
Find that our home has been filled with our enemies.
My stitches, uneven, my thoughts come unraveled,
Dreading each night and the morning thereafter.
Suitors and sorceresses speak their temptations
“Abandon your vows, set aside lamentation”
Yet still I work on in the hope of tomorrow
When, faithful, he’ll come to drive out all my sorrow
The tempters, discarded—like ashes, they scatter.
Then I in my veil and his arms will be gathered
United at last by the vows we have made
Resting entwined in our marriage-bed’s glade.