There, silhouetted between the gossamer curtain
and the window, i saw it:
the perfect silhouette of a fat, healthy spider.
the shape looked like
a black widow (sort of)—
stocky and fat enough. Well fed.
I moved the curtain up a bit
(though it was held top and bottom by rods attached to the windowsill
of my back porch door)
and he moved a bit in a jerky sort of way, the way spiders do.
Just imperceptibly up.
At the same time, I was removing my slipper
(sheepskin, with the fleece starting to wear)
ever so smoothly but with conviction…
He was now clearly outlined between
the pane and the curtain; nowhere to go.
“Whap!” he didn’t seem hit.
“Whap!” again, and this time,
the light shone through
the browns and blacks
of his corrupted body;
a stain on the white curtain.
I carefully removed the top rod, then the bottom,
freeing the curtain
without letting the liquefied mass
touch my clothing
and put the two pieces of the curtain in a bucket
with detergent and water
The stain will come out; the fabric is nylon.
Why am i such a murderer?
i’ve been thinking about
‘off the wall’—
what does it really mean?
like so many expressions
people say it without thinking
to mean ‘different’ or
but looking closely at the image
does it mean,
like a picture,
that has floated, frame and all,
off the wall?
or is it more like someone
a-straddle Hadrian’s (or another) wall
who has finally decided
which way to jump?
or is it like a waffle, syrup and all
that was thrown against the wall
and refuses to stick?
(you think it will)
is still here.
it’s good to be alive
in the pastel pinks of childhood
at the beach
believing in dad
knowing only the moment
the soft brush of whispering waves behind
an unbreakable circle of trust
within a mosaic serpent