On Waking

 

 

I sit at my wheel and spin

no spindle draws my blood

older now

no briar rose protected me from time

already awake

no prince prepares to bind me with a kiss

 

my broom stands idle in a dusty corner

I have swept out the dark places

found trembling spiders and clinging webs

beneath lifetimes of sleep

 

now the wheel turns at my command

my foot upon the treadle tells the pace

to love me is to trace my steps

through dark and resonant caves

no man will ever find me there