Spiders and Angels
This is barely even a draft- I’ve been writing (not enough) for poetry month, and am losing track of all of the thoughts that have been going through my head. Seeing the poems I’ve been spewing out has been like looking over diary entries.
I liked the really really rough draft of tonight’s poem well enough that I want to share it with you. This spring is being strange for me, I’m catching wind of secrets I don’t want to know, seeing failed humanity in places I used to think were exceptions to the rule- and, as usual, divinity/spirituality in nature, as much as an atheist can.
Now, this poem hasn’t had even the smallest revision, so the next time you see it, it may be an entirely different beast.
Spiders and Angels
Unstated facts catch like bugs and pollen
in new webs, struggling bodies and seed.
Spring days all short skirts and bared arms,
I slip through, jeans and hoodie, no makeup,
there are things I don’t say, can be trusted
not to say, will not tear down the spider’s home,
but refuse to be accomplice. Will not watch
the winged wrapped up Egyptian before sleep.
Angels have six limbs, and eyes like kaleidoscopes,
you can read their wings like our palms,
head line, heart line, life line, sun
they talk to god in a language you cannot speak
their prayers whine in your ears like heartbreak.
And you hate them like you hate your own sins,
you fear their stings like your mother’s angry hand:
it is a different pain than any other can deal.
Angels’ bites itch like guilt, and no salve soothes,
only time can rid you of the things under your skin.
And I slip through, not innocent, just mute-
not wearing garden colors, for fear of attracting angels.
