Weaving a maze of sticky threads,
the spider busies itself making a home
that sparkles innocuously in the morning dew.
A fly lands,
lulled in by the beauty and
perceived safety.
The spider closes in,
wrapping the fly tightly
in the filament,
a swaddle not meant to insulate
but to incapacitate,
slowly smothering
the fly
into a pale
and lifeless
form.
Tag: metaphor
Eschatology
What if I don’t meet my mother in heaven?
Digging my fingernails
into the moist dirt,
I find old things rotting
deep in the ground,
things I forgot
that I planted.
I root them out furiously
until my knuckles bleed
and mourn the empty holes
they leave behind.