The window in mid-summer raised, and where
the screen intersects with the frame, a web of circular
tensile silks radiating outward from the central lair
n spurs protruding rose-like from its abdomen,
it
where a yellow spiny-backed spider waits, its six
tho
rs casing imprinted with a wax seal ring. Attached
ufts,
lures, I suppose, for insects, and suspended
from
to the foundation lines, clusters of white cottony
ta single thread, a much smaller egg-shaped
spider (the male?) swaying imperceptibly in the air:
it long ago
ceased to mean anything other than a period
an image from childhood that reminds me of “childhood,"
a word that so often crosses my mind that
of time
occurred not to me so much as him,
when thing
s
nd all of them linked only by AND. As in the span
a
f a single moment, the afternoon after the all-clear
owhen the sun rose on a bloated, fly-stung pygmy goat
he crossed to wave to a woman
in a gravel slough
ith a Red Cross band on her arm. AND: the red
w
inball bumper cap (“5000 when lit”) in a tented
parcade on Brighton Pier when he was twelve.
What in this poem sticks out to you as the reader? Anything specific that can be determined from the objectivity of the poem?
I believe poetry like this, loosens the senses on various understandings, allowing us to let go of previous thought-patterns not needed and not for understanding.
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