Summer 2011 BOMB Issue


The Ones You Meet on the Way Up

The itsy-bitsy spider I killed
returned to the exact same spot
on the wall in my dream. Only this time
much bigger and hairier. Louder too.
Its thin voice lashed out at me,
criss-crossing the room — instantaneously
capturing the pale crumb of my head
in its elaborate argument. It was speaking
High Spider, that ancient language
of clipped, grandiloquent tones.
My shoes were crazy-glued to the floor.
My cries to him were as doggerel.

ELAINE EQUI

 

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