A Silent, Stoic Spider


A silent, stoic spider
rests in the center of his translucent tapestry,
innocently
woven across the tiny forgotten valley
where the top two steps meet of the old abandoned house.
Tonight,
while the wind makes the willow bow, he clutches his trampoline.

And how fortunate you are, my spider,
to have such fine silver wires suspending you in space;
something to hold on to
when the devil's breath makes the willow bow
even though, as now,
when the sky bursts, I can hear each one
break - broken by the rain.
I hear them snap like twigs of sanity
inside my brain.

© Mark E. Dougherty