When I met the orb-web spinner I
should have known better than to sit on
her art. I sought only a moment’s rest. Confused
by sky mirrored in the turquoise tiles
of the swimming pool, I paused.
How was I to know which lines were
sticky? There wasn’t time to blink
my multifaceted eyes
before she pounced. No
chitchat this one, no negotiation, down
to business she went, bit and wrapped
my remains with her threads.
As the orb-web spinner drained my life,
over her furred shoulder I saw
a razored beak. Feathers
gathered the air – a perfect strike.
by Cathy Yard
Words In Motion 2014
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