THREE POEMS

Holly Day

PROCESS

With the End of a Pin

The spider in my office has left me
another carefully-wrapped parcel of tiny white eggs.
I gently unwrap the webbing from the sac to see
if there is something new to find this time but
it really is
just eggs.


She watches me from the corner of the room
gauging my response to receiving
more eggs from her, and I, in turn
express both surprise and gratitude at the gift. I wonder
at her insistence of giving me the exact same thing
every single time,


but I try not to dwell too much
on the motivation of spiders.

The Whisper of Salvation

The June bug knocks at the window again and again as though
inviting me out to play, to open the window
and fly away with it. I know it’s only there
because it sees the light on in my bedroom
and it thinks that the window is that source of light
and it wants to bury itself in the glory of that light
the same way I want to crawl beneath the dead leaves out back
and hide with the earthworms and the grubs curled up in the dark.

 

The little June bug knocks again and again at the glass
and it sounds like tiny hands scrabbling at my second-floor window
some phantom trying to get in, with phantom promises
of escape from this tired body, from the hairbrush that never does any good
from the clothes that don’t look like they’re supposed to when I wear them
from the shoes that never take me anywhere interesting. I reach over
and turn the light off, see the flutter of golden wings against the glass briefly
just before it flies away.

My Side of the Yard

the leaves catch fire and burst into
flaming insects pouring out from beneath
every smoking leaf and branch some of them
clutch tiny parcels of white eggs drag their children
from the burning rubble by multiple hands scream
oh god oh god how did this happen oh god and I

 

refuse to answer their prayers I flick
another match on the pile and watch as it snaps
immediately into more fire I casually stomp
on a schoolbus full of children old people
streaking from the bonfire as though this

 

will be their salvation swat at helicopters
bearing important insect politicians to safety
slap at intrepid explorers climbing my shoes my
pant leg as though confronting me face to face
might be the way to stop the madness I

 

have no mercy for any of them I
do not want bugs in my kitchen and this
collection of anthills termite mounds
wasp nests is too close to my house
this is not allowed.

Holly Day

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