No Spiders in New York City

May 12, 2011 § Leave a comment

An itch
and then the idea— not like a lightbulb
more breath on glowing coal—
another phantom movement turns

her in her sleep.
Residual haunting eight
ghost legs on calf skin
and slow methodical digging
of thumbnail through
layer and layer of dermis.

Her mother’s legs in space
between orange shag carpet
and white metal bed frame.
Medical cherry smell

thick red drips
from an unseen spoon
will stain
the carpet.

Mummification in sticky
A housefly
inaudible on an audio cassette.

Her mother’s orange dress in the window.
Inaudible telephone conversation
through coiled cord coiled
around bony white finger.

Many legs of splattered eggs
crawling imperceptibly toward
sidewalk cracks. A creature
which was not yet a creature
allowed to be a creature.

Eight legs protruding
beneath her mother’s thumb.
The tiny crunch.
White spider across countertop.

A broken yolk has no
control over which direction
it will slowly flow.

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