Spider House


First, the egg-smoothe babies of May

which the cat stalks and swallows. Then,

 

shiny black specks on the high White ceilings.

They move like tiny clouds. Imperceptibly.

 

Spun on the trellis, a concatenation of successive webs.

Crawling through gaps in the skirting

they scoot across the floor.

 

A dot of a body with impossibly long legs,

or like today’s one, a body the size of a thumbprint

With rugby players knees.

 

They either freeze unmoved for days,

or scramble the minute you go looking for a tumbler.

They peak in September, half the size of your hand.

 

Last night, with the light off, I swear I heard them walking.

I sleep, knowing they’re everywhere.

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