Ananke
Absentmindedly,
the goddess put two strings in her pocket.
not quite on purpose-
simply had to put them somewhere.
and then she ran.
and she ran, and she walked.
and she worked on her tapestry, infinite and sprawling.
she talked.
she spoke stories of fellow myths,
of birds of prey and of the ocean,
weaving and writing the truth.
she moved.
she couldn’t stay in one spot long,
too quickly betrayed,
her stay too quickly over stayed.
when she remembered the string, it had been years later.
both strands were stronger. thicker.
they had seen her tapestry,
constantly unfinished.
they had heard her stories,
of birds of prey and the ocean.
they had felt her abandonment,
her need to keep moving.
and they had knotted,
tighter than any yarn she had sewn.
so she added the pieces of string to her tapestry,
now nearly unrecognizable as having once been separate,
and she walked.
and told stories of birds of prey and the ocean.
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