They Share Our Homes

In the autumn "spider months," eight-leggeds seek shelter from winter storms in our homes. They make quiet roommates, but require gentle handling if we're too creeped out to allow them in our beds.

Susie

She spans a dinner plate.

Eight black eyes gleam

in two neat rows

above two hairy sheaths:

fangs folded away but ready

at a moment's threat.

The children dare not touch

Her mottled body or sectioned legs.

My hand spreads before her, she

places one leg upon it,

exploring texture and scent

unchanging eyes bond

my gaze to hers.

Sliding hands beneath

Susie’s body, the teacher lifts

her slowly into a wire cage.

Don’t panic and drop her!

For, despite Susie’s size,

she would shatter.

Spider in the Bathtub

Huge brown blotch to foggy eyes

a closer look reveals

eight knobby knees

which lower the fanged mouth

to sip a drop left from a shower.

My initial horror bends

to fascination with the exquisite

architecture of its back.

radials in its carapace

match each sectioned leg.

Eight shiny orbs see

me watching it drink.

Still groggy from sleep

I wander to the kitchen

to fetch something large

enough to transport

my wary guest outside.

Carefully I lift the beast

through the house

out the door and slide

it to the forest floor

where it stands inert

awaiting fate or escape.

Spiderlings

As I pick through firewood

a spider scurries from hiding,

babies like black lace upon her back.

Quickly I grab a sheet of newsprint

scoop her up to take her outside.

She runs too fast in her panic

to save her precious brood

and topples onto my bed.

Her children jettison across

the quilt as I try to gather them.

Monstrous hands chasing fairy folk.

I reclaim most as well as mom.

Others disappear in blanket folds

or carpet shags among the dusty motes,

lost and on their own perhaps too soon.

If you enjoyed these poems, feel free to peruse the Ring Around the Basin Archives.