A series of veils embroidered with my poetry, in collaboration with designer Anya Ostapenko. The idea for the poem was inspired by the etymology of the word ‘veil’ - an old anglo-french word, whose root ‘weg’ means ‘to weave’. See final poem below.

The Weavers

it started with a pull

strung between us, remember?

a little tug, a hidden thread

timid yet tender

you couldn’t see it, this thread

tied somewhere within

but we could feel it, ever so gently

pulling us in

we were hesitant at first

noting its weight, its shine

you admired its fibres

while i liked its lines

but as we felt ourselves surrender

to this magic unseen

we each took a corner

and started to weave

i chose a gold

from the warmth of your eyes

while you picked a silver

from the sparkle in mine

i suggested cotton

something soft like our sheets

while you made me smile

and spun silk from my cheeks

when i laughed you took the sounds

to interlace with my fears

and when i cried you simply held me

and made beads from my tears

no matter our mistakes

or all the times our love slipped

we’d always find our way back

to repair any rips

and so grew our weave

imperfect yet ours

this entanglement

of our fingers

our lips

our hearts

until you asked me, so very quietly

to be yours forever

both surrounded in this beauty

we’d created together

and as i went to whisper yes

into the bliss of your skin

you simply showed me the place

you’d already embroidered it in