PENELOPE’S ADDRESS

by Judith Skillman

From my table I watch blue jays disappear 
into full skirted trees at the back of the acre. 

Who cares for red-tailed hawk or umber squirrel
to take my eyes from loom to sky to eye level—

I am alone. Like a statue, my hands as green
as myth, my task ennui—take another skein 

from its wooden hook, imagine him alive,
returning home. An oaken door can swing, sieve
 
these others in to woo the would-be widow
I am not. They make a queue, and how

beautiful I am to be wanted this way. God.
A je ne sais quoi scents yarns I’ve dyed.

Am I young or old or in between?
Why cry like the siren’s islands all sewn

together in the ocean he drank—no swallowed—
without a thought for salt. If he’s poisoned

so much the better. He lied about his wish.
I fasten loops, my starfish heart awash

in dreams of suns, moons and happiness.
Is solitude an emblem equal to its fantasies?

Judith Skillman’s poems have appeared in Commonweal, Threepenny Review, Zyzzyva, and other literary journals. She has received awards from Academy of American Poets and Artist Trust. Oscar the Misanthropist won the 2021 Floating Bridge Press Chapbook Award. Her recent collection is Subterranean Address, New & Selected Poems, Deerbrook Editions 2023. Visit www.judithskillman.com