spider

NOT FOR ARACHNOPHOBES (revised)

(some of my wonderful friends are worried that I was bitten by another Recluse Spider.  This is my poem from 2014–not my best–but want you to know, no worries)

 

What is the message of the spider?

Open invitation from the resident

Into a pesticide-free home

Spaces in floorboards

Irresistible to the neighboring swamp

Despite the equalizer AKA feather duster

The spiders come in the night

They always nip me equally

One on each arm

Unless it’s a Recluse

She gets me in a circle of eight

The secret antidote is plantain

Or even aloe for the minor stings

I’ve been injected with venom so many times

That one day I expect to point my wrists at a wall

While cobwebs shoot out

Enabling me to scale the side of the tallest building in Florida

But I know there is a message

I used to fancy that I was SpiderWoman of folklore

Weaving my tales

My fantasies

My fantasies came true for others, not for me

What was the message there?

Observer and recorder of life

But never a recipient of those richly imagined dreams

We Romani are always looking at portents

The Sinte word for the spider storyteller is

“Shpina Paramichari”

She is telling me that the one nip on each arm

Represents balance

Be consistent in life

Be moderate while living

No important revelation

But a painful one

Just weave your life symmetrically

In order to function in harmony

I tend to forget every few years

Guess I need a reminder…

(c) 2014, 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Recluse Spider Web, creative commons

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ARACHNIPHOBIAN SLEEP DISORDER

 

Dark room, bed of nails

Whispering, “No sleep for you”

Suddenly saw the truth

Superimposed on this world

Rusty red

Old blood red

Spider web

Hollywood size

With matching web-weaver

Also tainted red

Her legs stretching forever

Into the hostile aethers

Saw you and I

Knocking around the nexus

Tangled in the warp and weft

Of a bored tale-teller

Soon to tire and tip

Her latest universe

Clean her house

Sweep away superfluous lattices

Then pitilessly begin another day

Oh, thought I

I understand now

The secret of life

I’m drug-free so

Can’t blame revelation on that mess

Hypnagogic images leave me clueless

One wonders if the Collective Unconscious

Focusing on similar cosmogonies

Has more veracity than suspected

Because this time I know

The Spiderwoman of folklore

Is best left unseen…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: freepik.com