Song of the Loom

 

Snickety-snack, clickety-clack!

Prop your knees and bend your back!

Tie them knots, cut the thread

you’ll lie quiet when you’re dead

 

I was born on a winter’s morn,

my mother’s flesh already torn.

Of daughters she has had no lack –

Prop your knees and bend your back!

 

It’s hot outside and hotter here:

Air weighed down with lint’s not clear.

Sweaty hands may not go slack,

sickle knife goes snickety-snack!

 

My thoughts fly as my eyebrows frown

but pull warp over, up and down.

There’s plenty knowledge yet to pack.

Shove the weft stick, clickety-clack!

 

At summer’s end I toil for love,

no will laid on my from above,

though far from him that shares my bed.

Tie them knots, cut the thread!

 

Skin on hands has peeled of late,

my fingers telling of my fate,

so to the loom I bow my head –

I’ll lie quiet when I’m dead

 

 

– VB July 8^th, 2006

Sighnaghi, Georgia