LITTLE SPIDER

By Tick Rowley

Falling through the funnel I found myself

dangling by a thread,

suspended in mid-air,

surrounded by the dark.

In one swift motion

I was lifted up,

my back wet with sweat,

my body splayed

in the bed of a spider’s web.

I could hear the hairs of her legs:

winding, spinning, binding.

I flailed, I wailed,

with no success.

I could not move,

bound by a certainty I could not bear to meet.

Even in the pitch

I could see the endless dark

deep in her many eyes.

She screamed, and so did I.

Her mouth was deep and cavernous,

framed by lethal fangs.

I clenched my eyes shut

and waited.

No pain.

Instead, I was being raised up.

Beneath me the little creature

worked away, giving me silk

whilst I lay, arms open,

rising, heavenwards.

In the slow pull of her string

I could see colour changes;

I could make out the sky.

I turned once more

to see the spider, disappearing.

She hung me up in the stars

for the rising sun to see.

Here I am,

elevated and free.


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