huddled in closets,
thousands of eyes—
rivers of spiders
skittering,
nothing left to spin.
weave, mothers,
weary of broken things.
gather, climbing,
whispering legs,
poised to bite
back.
*66/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.
2/3 through! Killing it.
You are too kind. I’d say I’m lightly hitting it with a leaf, but thank you.
That is some palpable arachnid imagery. Meanwhile, your river of poetry flows on.
Thank you! Yep, just keeping going. It feels like the home stretch, although truthfully there’s still quite a bit to go. Haven’t had time yet to reflect on this journey, but I will say, every word written is part of a writer’s path forward, don’t you think?
It certainly is. When I think of Japanese haiku poets like Basho, Buson and Issa, writing was a dedication, a prayer, almost a penance. For significant stretches of their lives, they seemed to exist to write. Every new haiku was another few steps in a journey that never really ended.
Maybe that is what writing ultimately becomes: not something one merely does, but a way of being in the world.
Absolutely. My dear friend Neil, who really was my poet mentor, told me he didn’t know anything else to do but to write. That feels true to me.
Scary! Spiders creep me out so bad… 💀
Would it help you to know it’s not a real spider? It was an earring 🙂
Oh, oops! 😬
That’s a really strange and good photo. More or less just B&W or did you “do things” to it?
I just upped the contrast a bit and the clarity. It’s not a real spider, but an earring I was wearing because my nephew loves spiders and I was picking him up from school. Thought it worked great for poem inspiration.
Timeless and true, thank you, Bridgette.
Thank you, Robert!