Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Not phobic, mother picks up spider, carries it to freedom, shuts the door. Not phobic, little child kills spider, asks for more. Kid-phobic, spiders flee.

Spider-webs drifted with autumn leaves. “I want to conquer my fears,” said the child. “Drink this.” He drank, shrank, conquered spider, and was squashed underfoot.

Grandpa watched football on TV. “So Brian, what do you think?” “Well, it’s a game of two halves.” Grandpa dug a hole in his sandwich. A spider crawled across the commentator’s desk; across the screen. Granddaughter screamed. Grandpa’s sandwich had a hard bit, chopped spider in halves, dropped in bin.

The web gathered dewdrops like jewels each night, melting them to sunshine during the day. The spider crouched inside her hole waiting ever-patient for her prey. The rain was black as night, thick as snowfall on the plain. Then pouring water washed it all away... Spider crawled up the waterspout.

The spider stalked across the grass. Except this green was carpet, and small boy screamed. “No problem,” said Mum, capturing errant beast with card-capped cup. She told the child to open the door then freed her ancient foe into the wild. “He’s okay now.” Child hurried out and squished it.

I dream in color Green when I’ve been weeding, Brown earth feeding grayish scents To nostrils. If I cough Perhaps I’ll wake. I dream in sound Around me ivy rustling; Sense how the ground is shared With spiders. If I scream Perhaps I’ll wake. I dream in nightmares Shaded gray.

D’you suppose the flowers don’t grow because they know I’ve not got green fingers? D’you suppose they’re upset ‘cause I’m pulling down the ivy from the walls? D’you suppose they don’t like me because I don’t like spiders? And is that a spider, crawling in my hair? I hate yard-work.

In the top corner of the bathroom By the shower There’s a web where a spider spends hours Just watching and waiting To stare at me. I’d scream of course If he were in the bath But mostly I cope by not looking up. I did the vacuuming today And could have blown him away but decided not to A stray thought suggesting Maybe spiders eat other creatures That might hide somewhere out of reach. I tell myself He’s only offering to help And clean away All the insects I still haven’t seen. I’m seriously hoping he’s not a she. Written for ReadWritePoem # 21 perfectly flawed

He gazes back at me. Brown eyes or black, I can’t be sure. He sits so safe, secure. “You want me gone,” his body says, that firm demeanor, still, but for the trembling in the breeze. His bending knees, he stirs so subtly now. I shrink away. I think it’s me that he wants gone, me shrunk to size, despised, diminished, done. One foot flicks out on swinging calf, and I’m half-way across the room still looking back to ponder on his wrath. And he? He’s gazing back at me, unmoved. Brown-clad, thick-trunked, dark-eyed, dark-fanged; dark spider guards the door.