Living with Anansi
An ancient spider character brought to America from Africa, Anansi can be lazy or angry if disturbed from his nap.
Dueling with Anansi
Pickaxes crash through dirt all day
our driveway growing wider
a garden growing deeper.
Occasionally, the blade cuts
through wolf spider dens, spilling
the sleepers into daylight.
One spider thrusts his forelegs upwards
unfurls its fangs. En garde!
The marmalade cat paws above it
I tap Spider’s spinneret with a stick
Urging it to a shovel.
It spins and bites, parries and lunges,
It flares its forelegs higher
ready to die fighting,
finally leaping onto the metal blade
Still keen to kill, it rides
as I carry it to safety
in forest duff down the road.
Backyard Ananzi
The grass grows long in this mountain yard
suburban edicts fail this far to command:
to mow or not to mow. We watch it grow
to see what grass becomes when not aborted
midway to seed.
Wolf spider struggles with the blades
drags its ponderous weight
over hills and hummocks
through arches and bowers
an Amazonian task for this cave dweller
who prefers dark dens to this obstacle course
in dangerous daylight hours.
Hey, Ananzi, where you goin' this hot day?
Your wife finally tire of you layin' 'round her house?
She push you out to find your way?
Mercy mellows my taunts.
I scoop him onto a shovel
airlift him to the grove
where it’s cool and safe
from cat paws or hungry jays
away from where we want to play.
He can dig his new home there
Among the roots of redwoods
While we idle away this humid
afternoon laying in tall grass,
Sweet and fresh as spring
And free of creepy wild things.
If you enjoyed these poems, feel free to check out more poems, stories, and essays in the Ring Around the Basin Archives.
Thank you, Fran. I lived in such spider-rich environments for so long, there was plenty of inspiration. I thought it best to love my neighbors rather than squish them. They were partners in pest control. And some of the comical things they would do were just too funny to not document.
Thank you also for the comparison to the Boll Weevil. Boy, that song goes way way back. Aren't you glad we're as ancient as we are and have these extensive libraries of knowledge of memories to draw upon for our writing?
Why am I reminded of the song “Boll Weevil”? The version by the Presidents of the United States.
It’s the line: “Your wife finally tire of you layin' 'round her house?”
Here’s from “Boll Weevil”
“Spends all day — on his big butt ,
And he don’t ever, ever get outside.”
From the chorus:
"And I wonder: Boll Weevil why don't you get out of your home?”
I like these poems!