National Poetry Month: Two spider poems

So there I was in the bathroom doing my thing, when I looked up and saw a spider, delicate and black, climbing up the wall. Later that day I saw another spider in the kitchen, and yet another in my writing room.

A sign, perhaps, for in Native American myths, spiders are weavers of dreams and symbols of endurance (and lord knows I need all the endurance I can get when it comes to my writing).

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Spider in our upstairs bathroom. Isn’t she lovely?

Or maybe, and probably, I’m seeing spiders simply because it’s spring here in Alaska and the spiders are getting ready to do their summer thing.

Still, I view each encounter as magical, those delicate spider legs, those intricate webs. Hopefully, a few will set up house in the corners of our rooms, catch a few mosquitoes and flies, and bless us with their presence all summer.

In honor of spider love and National Poetry Month, I’ve decided to share a few of my favorite spider poems.



Spider Season

Emily Perez

August and a spider season.
Wolf and hobo spiders thread
their way across our threshold
repairing each day’s damage
with diligence, what we destroy,
casually, while opening a door,
climbing a stair, what we destroy
purposefully, with a hand,
a hose, a broom. They’d bind us
if we let them, forcing
and reinforcing their mummy-wrap,
their swaddling strands, their sticky ribbon.
I’ve mixed feelings about razing
another’s home; I’ve always admired spiders,
their artistry, sufficiency.
When I find them inside, I scoop
them in cups, scare them onto fliers,
grab a strand of silk as it pulses
from the belly, usher them outdoors,
as if to say, one space is mine,
one space is yours, and yet we co-occupy
and overlap, the boundary unclear. I loved
a man once, with arachnophobia
so deep, to merely hint
that one lightly tufted leg had nicked
his arm or neck was to meet
a quivering wreck of a man.
He could not survive here, where
the ceiling’s a playground, junctions
between walls inspire commuters
to traverse on silken highways,
and even the bathtub with its hard-
to-grip sides, hosts the lone spider
hoping for a clumsy fly.

Read the rest here on Garo.


Never to Dream of Spiders


Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay    a condemnation
within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three    day four    day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.
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3 thoughts on “National Poetry Month: Two spider poems

  1. I have a confession: I can’t open this post (I’m on WP Reader right now) because I have a spider phobia :(. Yup, just reading about them or catching a glimpse from a photo is enough to send me into flight mode. Eek!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Too funny! Yet not. I’m terrified of elevators, which isn’t a big deal when living in Alaska (we have very few tall buildings). But when traveling, this often poses a problem. We once stayed on the 11th floor of hotel and I took the stairs (over 200 of them) each time we went anywhere. It was exhausting. Yet I could not bring myself to so much as step inside the elevator.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I don’t like elevators either. I was injured by one a long time ago but I’ve learned to desensitize myself, out of necessity since they are ubiquitous here. However I still the stairs whenever I can. At the least it’s great exercise 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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