Season of spiders
Arachnid moon
cycle spinning anew
I bring a curled dry dead one
in from the garden
in my hair
I chase a long quick one
with a Mason jar
She's gone, too fast for me
I kill or relocate depending on
how near I feel to my Buddha nature
They say our proximate distance
from a spider
is never more than three feet
at any one time
I endure occasional bites
in my bed
They say humans are more afraid
of spiders than death and dogs
This year's annual invasion
is more poignant and personal
How dare they interrupt my grieving
- remind me that time is passing.
This season sees me reworking
the pattern of my web
Busy in night dreams
attaching fresh fine filaments
Daytimes I try to find the center
feeling new possibilities radiating out
You never see a spider sharing its web
no parties or community potlucks
solitary - they live, trap, manifest
independent and alone
We all must dwell for a while like this
then carry the current contemplation
in from the garden
in our hair
Melissa Rissman
2012
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