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brooking caldwell
poems & ponderings

                                               Eleven Spiders

1/24/2015

 
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I counted eleven spiders
in the shower just now,
but at first glance
I only saw seven. 

Four spiders,
lurking like shadows,
hidden like blessings,
rounding things out
like a cross. 

It got me wondering
about the holy trinity — 
why we cross ourselves
for only three names?

In the name of
the father, the son,
and the holy… 

The spirit spiders
were there all along.
They were still, and presented
such delicate limbs
I had to focus a while
on the barely there webs
to glimpse the dime-sized
graceful ghosts — relaxing,
it seemed, all suspended
(like now)
in spider paradise
above my misty shower, 
on those shimmering miracle 
fly-catching hammocks
they’d woven through air 
for themselves. 

It got me wondering 
why we cross ourselves
at all. 




Photo: William Waterway, A gift from the universe. Creative Commons (c) 2006.

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