Cloisterous
marvel at the me-ness of me
the same but different as
the me-ness of you
trapped in husks that move speak defecate
half our experience is imagined
the other two thirds a
misapprehension of the need
for a wholesale spiritual
retreat into
urban hermitage
secret opossum
playing at dead
~ Susie Hewitt, that crazy Las Vegas poet
Her Two Cents
Sometimes, I find the images attached to missed connections posts as interesting as the poems. In this case, a large spider held suspended over a mountainous horizon by only the slender threads of its web. Not much different than say, a high-rise window washer, a rocker-climber, a bungee-jumper or parachutist… the me-ness of the spider isn’t so different from the me-ness of humans after-all…
Is she suspended
over the horizon,
or standing
on the sky?
—
Scarlett, is the orb
spider with whom I
share my space.
A week ago, I
opened my door
and found myself
eye to eye with her,
marveling.
I tried knocking her away.
As she flew into the air
I noticed a thread
almost
unspooling.
Followed
by her
inch-long
body swinging
my way like a pendulum.
I jumped, and she returned
to her place,
this web,
which I proceeded to
knock half down.
That night she did
what she’s done
every night since.
Rebuild, wait,
trap, and
eat.
When I opened the
door the next morning,
her web was complete,
and there has room for me
to leave.
She is gracious.