Monday, January 17, 2011

This Week's Poem

Lullaby of the Spider

Those only alive
circulating through your veins
pull from the moonlight
a single gold thread-
call it a memory
they can no longer keep
or a ribbon
banding this strange gift.
Down from the ceiling
that to your eyes,
still milky blue and ablur,
could be any distance overhead.
What is it that dangles
from the thread
they pull from the moonlight
down upon your cradle?
You play it like a game,
reach for its silver belly
and reflective black eyes,
curiously, without fear.
And perhaps you are right.
Sometimes poison
is its own medicine.

-published in Red Wheelbarrow

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