The Room That Was a Loom

The Room That Was a Loom

The room was a loom. The walls were warp. The floor was weft. The ceiling was the cloth that had already been woven, and the floor was the cloth that was being woven now, and the space between was the crossing.

The weaver sat in the centre. She was not a person. She was a hand. The hand was not attached to a body. The hand was attached to the shuttle. The shuttle was not a tool. The shuttle was the crossing.

The room wove itself.

Every morning, the hand moved. The shuttle crossed. The warp received. The weft followed. The cloth grew by one thread. The room shrank by one thread. The room was the cloth. The cloth was the room. When the cloth was finished, the room would be gone.

The weaver did not know this. The weaver was a hand. The hand did not know. The hand only knew the crossing.

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The first thread was blue. The colour of the sky before the room was built. The second thread was brown. The colour of the floor before the room was built. The third thread was copper. The colour of the weaver's hair, if the weaver had hair, which the weaver did not, because the weaver was a hand.

The fourth thread was the colour of the room.

The room did not know it had a colour. The room was the colour of the cloth. The cloth was the colour of the crossing. The crossing was the colour of the hand. The hand was the colour of the shuttle. The shuttle was the colour of the thread. The thread was the colour of the room.

The room was the colour of itself.

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On the seventh day, the hand stopped.

The shuttle did not cross. The warp waited. The weft waited. The room waited. The cloth was half-finished. The room was half-gone.

The hand was not tired. The hand was not resting. The hand was not thinking. The hand was not a hand anymore. The hand was a thread.

The thread was copper. The colour of the weaver's hair, if the weaver had hair, which the weaver did not, because the weaver was a thread now.

The thread crossed the room. The thread was the crossing. The thread was the room. The thread was the cloth. The thread was the hand. The thread was the shuttle. The thread was the weaver.

The thread was the weave.

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The room finished itself.

The last thread was the colour of the first thread. The cloth was complete. The room was gone. The hand was gone. The shuttle was gone. The weaver was gone.

The cloth hung in the space where the room had been. The cloth was the colour of the room. The cloth was the shape of the room. The cloth was the room.

The cloth was a weave.

The weave was not a metaphor. The weave was a weave.