I.

Arachne at her web,
With blithe indifference to her gods —
The hands that made her hands so skilled,
The minds that dreamed her.
She will learn too late
Or never learn
What debt she owes,
And with what blood she must repay it.

II.

I have been everything, incarnate,
Possible and protean,
Promethean, unbounded,
Brought to bay
By other gods.
I have dared excel amidst the mud,
And giving into mortal hands
Have created my own thousand faces.

[Erica Ruppert lives in northern New Jersey with her husband and an
assortment of over-indulged pets. She  teaches, bakes, runs,
reads and writes many odd things. She has previously been published in Rose
Red Review, Caesura, and Bookends Review.]