Of Tapestries and Tears

I’m revisiting an old write….to go with my earlier post.

This was written by me, c. July 2017
Somewhere in Radio land there is also a wonderful reading of these words by Michael Todd, thanks Myke for bringing my words to life with your Tennessee drawl.

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The Lady of Shalott came to me in a dream…

“You’ve no idea,” she said, “what it was like to die like that, right before everything good was about to happen.”

“Oh but I do,” I replied, “I’ve died in the middle of things before… a few times in fact.”

She laughed and turned to face me, wearing the flowing white dress she parted in that fateful day at Camelot. We were in her tower as we spoke, the tower where she wove her life away in tapestries and tears.

The Ladye of Shalott

“I see, you and I are kindred spirits then. I know you know me better than just a face in the crowd, you don’t seem like the others that would pass me by, leaving me to my sorrows and courtly addictions up here.”

“No, no, I have held an interest in your plight for quite sometime Elaine, ever since I first read your story told by Lord Tennyson in a poem…and then I read for myself your Arthurian tale. The curse that held you here, your unrequited love for Sir Lancelot and these shadows that torment you in the magic mirror. I know it all, and I empathize deeply Dear Lady.”

She bowed her head and swooned into a chair. I stood to get her a glass of water or something to revive her with.

“Are you alright?” I asked

“I know what he said.”

“Who?” I asked, handing her the crystal tumbler of water, “What who said?”

“Lancelot. I know when he saw my corpse lying in the boat, he bent down over me and when his eyes beheld my visage, he whispered, ‘Ah but she has a lovely face…’ Why did I have to be dead to warrant such a compliment?”

“One never knows these things Dear Lady.” My heart was bleeding for her, I tried to cheer her up,“He read your letter though, he took it upon his heart and he paid for your funeral with all the riches he had. I am sure it was a stunning tribute.”

She laughed again, “Oh it was indeed, My love so gallant and noble as if he were a King and I so ethereal, so dormant, lying in repose as if a Sleeping Queen…”

It was at this point I woke to a barking dog, “Ahh, yet another conversation to be continued on another day through some sort of portal or requiem, I suppose.

Written by Christine Wichman c. July 2017

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Lady of Shalott by Loreena McKennitt