i wove to deafen my mind. a woman

like you, i’d never defy.

i wove to admire a woman—

like you, i’d only wish to be.

i wove because i wanted to weave myself through you,

like tangled hair on the coast of Lydia. i knew you

as what you were: goddess, not a woman with wrinkled eyes.

and what you did not find in my web,

not a single slip nor flaw,

was the cost of my love.

i wove to shut my eyes—

worshipping your dark lashes and the curves

of your chest, as if your body

was a spinning wheel, freshly oiled

to work my fingers through,

to plait a braid out of us.

you struck me with my spindle,

wooden and raw, and to lie to you

would be to tell you i hated the beating.

for spinning my own web is a hanged girl,

for that i owe you my spindly arms and silk shadows,

for that i loved you, and you punished me.

Gabriella Escobar ‘26

"To Athene" is sort of a diary entry to what I imagined Arachne wanted to say to Athena with a sapphic twist. In the original Greek myth, Arachne appears overly-confident and vain, testifying against Athena's weaving skills. However, I sympathize with Arachne
and took her passionate weaving as a way to honor Athena, not to compete against her.