Weaving time

Mary spins and the thread twists
at just the right moment.
The tension tight, she winds it
on the shaft and then smoothly
presses another bit of wool,
pinches the thread, sees it wind into true.
She listens as the stories
of women, of family, weave together.
Rachel sitting on the idols
and the men slinking away.
The women snicker, then tell
of Tamar, how she, too, was clever,
better yet, she didn’t die in the end.
A woman alone and pregnant—
Mary shivers at the thought
of all those eyes, watching,
but her fingers are steady with the thread.
Mary’s arm arcs upward
in a fluid curve, a shadow swings
downward, the two half arcs
meet in her middle.
Author
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View all postsRachel has a Master of Arts at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, D.C. She has taken classes at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda. Her special place is where art turns into joy and church, and perhaps hope. Rachel has been published in Time of Singing and Solid Food Press.
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