NORTHEAST OHIO SPOTLIGHT

The Spider

Poetry by ​​Carrie George

When my first morning
step through the doorway
landed on your crawling
 
toward breakfast, maybe,
or meeting or underside
of branch,
 
I couldn’t help
but gasp at the weight
of myself on your body.
 
Under me, you became
wrapping paper, unskinned,
robbed of its form.
 
You became boiled
chewing gum fused
to summer pavement.
 
Became pinecone flake
severed from its web
of fraying sisters.
 
Became a final dance,
twitching like a dry
leaf or a salted
 
butterfly. The woman
watching said it is like this:
her husband must bless
 
each roadkill, each fly-circled
carcass, as if the small word gives
light to curious passage.
 
She said I must bless you,
bless you for living
while I go on stepping
 
where I shouldn’t,
putting my foot down
on what isn’t mine. 

Carrie George
​
Carrie George is a poet, photographer, and NEOMFA candidate. She is the current graduate fellow for the Wick Poetry Center in Kent, OH, where she teaches poetry to people of all ages and backgrounds. Her work has appeared in Scribendi, Spectrum Literary Journal, and Grub Street. You can find her at www.carriegeorge.blog.