The Arachnid Letters


Tiffany Midge

In the evening
I rescue a spider
clenched like a socket
on the teeth
of my keyboard.

Later, I dream of eggs.

I plot them in glass boxes,
their pure round
labor in the forced square.
I experience guilt.

the yellow stain of it
borders on the absurd.
Yet, I swallow it in
like sour lemonade,

like raw eggs,
like a spider.

© 1997 Tiffany Midge
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