The 3 Fates
You, Me, and the Moirae
Clotho spun out our threads nearly together when both
The 2nd Elizabeth and 2nd Great American novel debuted.
Lachesis chose to weave them in parts of the tapestry
That begin far apart, and then
Oh so close, yet out of each other’s sight
Which was wise for though we were near physically
For a while my straight stitches would have insulted
Your wild arabesques.
My primary colors would have
Clashed with your wild hues.
We were both a work in progress (we hoped).
In time, our weaves moved ever closer.
At first our patterns only touched tangentially,
Similar professions, similar causes,
A meeting here, a rally there, a holy mission together.
Nothing, we found was ever simple.
Finally, our patterns turned in each other’s direction,
And we discovered that my straight lines had curved
And your bends had lost their sharp twists
So that your weft blended with my warp.
The joy is in making the tapestry,
And we both pray that Atropos witholds her shears
Since we are far from finished with it.
Note: The Moirae were the Greek names for the three fates. Clotho started the thread, Lachesis spun it, and Atropos cut if off, signifying death. In this poem, I'm am trying to combine the idea of spinning thread with weaving it into some kind of pattern.