Posted: Mar 15, 08 4:37pm
She has a tattoo now, in the small of her back,
Spidery Japanese that meant fidelity,
Vestige of a previous relationship
Which cracked her world in half.
She can’t see it except in the mirror.
At dinner her father made a point to tell her,
“Women with tattoos in the small of their backs
Can’t have an epidural during childbirth.”
She told him, “Well, I’ll probably never have children.”
As if the thought did not worry her.
She was strong enough to weave her web of life
When she ventured into this world,
But now she spends her time repairing
Torn holes and pretending the web is a finished work,
Refusing to begin again.
I was so proud of the web I wove
And so happy to send her into the world.
Sure her talent for weaving was as good as mine.
But the completeness of my web mocks her and
Now she rarely comes home.
She does not see that I, too, strain
To knot broken strands.
She has not learned that no web starts out right.
Or ends up perfect.
Some webs merely survive.
