Thanks to relocation and an injury, shibari suspension work didn’t remain in my life for very long, but in the time it was, it was a powerful spiritual tool for me. Logan was a skilled and smart rigger, and he worked well and sensitively in a spiritual context.
I don’t recall my spiritual work ever speaking so explicitly in my poetry. That being said, the poem does form a kind of trilogy with two earlier ones, “Threads” and “Near Fine with Very Good Jacket.” A tapestry, you might even say.
Suspended, half flesh now and half spirit,
I call out and they come: The three, sisters
Bound by thread rather than by blood.
At the center, see Arachne, weaver whose
Unwilling transformation gave name to a genus,
Her punishment to forever do what she loved most.
Flanking her, see the unweavers, their threads unspooling,
Ariadne’s to guide a faithless man, Penelope’s to mislead many.
Still they lost what they loved most, for ten years or forever.
There is no greater wisdom here, their silence says. Our
Existence is our lesson to the world. But hanging here
Because I choose to be, I think that must not truly be so.
Later, alone, I’ll take up my bent and blunted tapestry needle
And weave in an error or two. Just to be safe, just to be sure.