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Annie the Bard, Ann Bardens-McClellan

The Language of Spiders

after Elsa Tio

1.

When endless space whets
her appetite for swallowing
time   the spider     her stitches
made of air     weaves her web
of dust and mystery
mid light
mid shadow
mid fear.
Her thread     without needle
never harmed by wind
still as silver
soft as dreams
spins the surface of silence
into tired old corners.

Always alone     she weaves
a language of ghosts
and one evening star.

2.

The spider     no longer omen
of regret     crawls across the moon
swallowing its energy. From her body
she spins filaments of light
tracing mysterious webs
in ebony sky. From earth

we watch as she sails
like thisle-down     threads
levitating her body above us.
We wait balancing on dust
for her to drop feather-
like on our ground.

3.

We dream of spiders
weaving portraits
in silk and shadow.
Makers
we draw fragile strength
from our bodies creating
order from signs
spirit
memory.

4.

Madre de Dios sews
with a spindle inside
mountains of stone
weaving her thread
into the spider's web.

Together spider and thread
create the language
of stars,
of grass,
a magic spiral
connecting
earth and sky.

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©2017 Ann Bardens-McClellan