Staring huntsman, I'm awake.
How long have you been boring holes
into my skull? All night? All eight?
The sun is up,
I should get up,
instead, we look at each other across my sleeping husband.
The spider is lined with silver,
glowing softly in the dim light
like a storm cloud stuck to our bedroom wall.
My husband's dark blonde hair
lined with silver.
The room is filling with clouds.
Because I know the spider is old and dying
but little else,
I am thankful
when it brushes away the clouds,
and climbs into the curtains for the day.
Oh, I like this spider! My sister in upstate New York once wrote a poem about a time when she was in bed very weak and feverish, and she spied a huge spider walking down the screen door in front of her bed. A very brave woman ordinarily, but in that state she was terrified...it looked purposeful. She barely had the energy, but she somehow managed to call out to her teenage son to come quick. Who calmly told her that it was on the OUTSIDE of the door.
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