THE SPINNER

by Claire Hersom

I walked into the mill,
every inch of air
dripping with the smell of oil,
beside the clacking noise of machinery
you showed me the bobbins, threads;
giant spools above me;
told me to look down the row of them
to the far ends, spinning,
going faster than
I could—then smiled.

You said, look for breaks,
hoist yourself on the runner,
take your 1st finger and thumb,
grab the thread while the bobbin’s going;
roll it - twist it, but never, never
let the bobbins stop, all two hundred of them;
walk around and around,
grab the breaks, spin and spin,
eight hours a day, the clacking, clacking
roaring at me to do a good job
don’t miss a step.

The dye room workers watched.
The cutters came to stand in the door jam,
see the new girl hired this morning -
see what mettle she was made of,
scan her face for signs of failing;
watch the sway of her
up and down the aisles;

they stood elbows resting on push-broom handles,
against tool gurneys they
gave me a first day evaluation
like I asked them for it—
leaning into the huddle,
quarterbacks deciding if I’d win
the game
or be thrown back
to the bristling women—
eyes looking at me
like I’d taken a job away from
their daughter, their best friend;
like I’d taken their man out behind the
drying racks; they paced in front of the frames,
looking, to see if the pretty-girl
would make it; odds against it—
better than for, they waited for me
to loose the pace.

Near the end of day, still standing, still smiling,
I had earned some sort of respect
I didn’t even know was on the line;
and they all went back to their corner of the mill,
to their own clacking machines, shooting
small grudging smiles in my direction,
they left me spinning the ever breaking threads
of my new life.

 

5 1/2" x 5" 2008 Wolf Moon Calendar just $10.00 each
More Info

More Info

© Wolf Moon Press 2002-2008 all rights reserved.

Submission Guidelines