by Wesley D. Sims
A large gray spider
in an almost deserted
restroom at the campground
has spun a silky mural
of long legs and little
brown bodies,
strung up a constellation
of granddaddy long-legs,
their wire-thin legs splayed radially
outward like arms of a galaxy.
Their lights have gone out,
their carcasses kept
on cold storage in the spider’s
private mausoleum,
hidden in a corner
of little used web-space.
1 comment:
This poem is beautiful from the title to the final line - to think of the spiders in this way is refreshing. Connecting their activities and what they leave behind in a new way - in constellated time. You have left such memorable images behind you, in the lines of this poem, and in the campground bathroom. Very nice work, Wes.
Post a Comment