The Spinning-Wheel

A poem from the perspective of the spinning-wheel from Sleeping Beauty.

I heard the barbaric victory-calls

As executioners slowly burned us

As witches, in piles taller than our heads, 

Wider than them, deeper than cold dark nights,

For spinning our wares, for looking the way 

We did. Betrayed like Hippolyta, I

Waited for my demise. But She with the

Face of a vile serpent ready to bite

Carried me to a battleground of mice

And rats, filled with the echoes of creaks and 

Groans from my sisters below. She, modern

Medusa, wronged by men, us too alike,

 Bid me stay in my spinning, silently,

A fameless Shalott, the curse sixteen years.

 I tried to cry out, but my joints were dry

And brittle from the fire, a fate from the

Fates for me and my kind, as I watched the 

Night end, and became the last of us, hair

 Like old spiderwebs rather than fine wool, 

My purpose to fulfill crimes we died for.

Author's Note

Written for a poetry class. The idea was to personify an object from a well-known story. I tried to pull in some mythology and other literary references in the revision for my portfolio, but I'm not sure if it works or not.

Reviews

[Tony]

I really enjoyed the dark riveting language. It made the poem really engaging.
There is also a spinning wheel story in Rumpelstiltskin.
As a kid listening to the story of Rumpelstiltskin always gave me the creeps.

[Chris]

It came across as a unique viewpoint though the references feel tenuous at best - least to me.