Labyrinthine by Libby Jones

Labyrinthine

My life – unlike Theseus’s – does not depend
            on where I turn. His labyrinth

a set of tricks, unpredictable chaos,
            he had to guess the pattern, discern false paths,

saved by cleverness – a thread –
            a woman’s trick, that thread.

In my labyrinths –
            mown path in summer New York grass,

painted canvas in a holy wood,
            stones at Grace Episcopal atop a San Francisco hill –

I do not guess: I do not know the way
            but the way knows me,

I twirl through turns
            as in a dance that teaches me its steps,

I pause at center, then the path swings out,
            keeping me in play.

A single iteration, tessellated,
            a complex path, with mental bifurcation points –

the set direction of the foot explodes
            mind’s limits. Swaying,

I string my spirit thread,
            await amazement.

—Libby Jones

Labyrinthine is the first poem in the book: Above the Eastern Treetops, Blue by Libby Falk Jones.

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