Spider Stuff

My hands are full of rocks

that must come home with me,

as I walk through webs the spiders wove,

overnight across the trail.


Filaments invisible, yet one by one,

they drape their touch against my face,

my neck, my eyes, my arms,

breaking only at each side

as I stride. They tickle my face,

but my hands are occupied,

and I can’t brush them away.


Against my skin,

the strands keep multiplying.

Each a gossamer finger, but

I might, after all, be caught!

Mightn’t five hundred spiders’ threads

on forehead, cheeks, chin and ears,

combine to capture me?

Or cure me?


This filmy mask of spider stuff,

that feels so insubstantial,

might hide, or bind,

or heal me.

©Susa Silvermarie 2015




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