Spider
Although traces of silk remain,
I’ve not seen my spider confidant in days.
She’d often greet me at the printer’s table,
and once, only inches away, admonished me
from a manila folder containing drafts.
I do not speak the language of spiders,
but surely some ideas fall beyond words,
and our conversations, though one-sided
at both ends, offered consistency
in companionship. I wonder if she’s migrated
to another backyard shack, perhaps an artist’s
studio or gardener’s shed, one with better
opportunities in prey selection or talk. Even
seeing each other daily, we’ve led such separate lives.
* * *
“Spider” was published in January 2021, in Issue 17 of Panoply. Many thanks to editors Andrea, Jeff and Ryn for including this piece, and for supporting my work over the past five years. I am truly grateful.
O at the Edges 
Ah, our spider companions. I always feel a bit bereft, like Wilbur, when one disappears — and also, like Wilbur, hopeful there will eventually be another. Nicely done, Bob.
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Just a few days ago a tiny spider was weaving a web on the light at my work table. I’d been there for several hours, and it just started working. But it was gone the next day. 😦
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The most ephemeral of creatures. I’ve observed several cat-faced spiders — one tiny, one small, one huge — in recent weeks. They’re nocturnal, but always comes the first night of an enduring absence. A grief.
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I find this poem very appealing, even though I hate spiders.
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These little jumping spiders are so cute!
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🙂
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Great to see this one again!
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Thanks, Jazz. We’ve had some memorable spiders lately!
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