A year ago, I wrote a poem.
TRAP
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
Dancing ahead in your path Part light, part creature, part dark It's peace And though it seems To have been tamed by others You, my dear, must learn To trap it Spider in an upturned glass
Nine months ago, I painted the Spider In An Upturned Glass from my poem — it was for an open exhibition call: Freedom.
You know the debate about how freedom is actually found through certain limitations and control? How it’s a feeling, not a state of being?
I thought of the spiders who live inside our homes, the ones we catch and send outside – from whence they came – granting “Freedom” with our giantesque.
The power in our hands to twist the spider’s fate.
The spider just wanting a central-heated corner out of the rain.
This Spring, He kept asking me why I keep the spiders in? Are we collecting them, Darling?
Honestly, most of them are too high. Truthfully, I don’t notice the cobwebs. Hopefully, they catch some of the flies that begin to arrive once the mornings are no longer short, cool and dark blue.
This Summer, I moved a pair of boots and out poured eight pointed legs — they thundered across the floor though they never made a sound. And a thick round brown body hung there in the middle, poised and ready to “act”. My god look at the size of it.
We had to turf it out of another nook before we shook it out over our neighbour’s fence. I fear they have quite the collection now.
Two days later though, I saw it upstairs, just inside the door. In plain sight it was back.
I carried it to the front this time, right down by the yucca. You’ll be alright out here, I’m sure. Plenty of crannies for you to cower in. Lots of flies. Off you go, go on.
Two days later though, it walked through the open front door, crossing the threshold like a newly married pair. I was only back at the house for a minute, popping in to get a forgotten thing...
...You again!
He said we’ll rue the day we didn't get rid of it, what if it ends up biting the Boy?
It stayed in a jar as we slept. Guilt tastes bitter, if you didn't know.
Morning came and the Boy and I walked out with the sunrise. We’ll have to go quite a way, I say, past the square edges of our own stone and grass. Find this fellow new branches to weave upon.
The new spot was okay. Ivy coated trunks, brambles, stone steps.
Off you go, Long Legs.
I was sad with our empty jar. Of course I was sad, because the spider wouldn’t find its way back with trees that tall; under all the weather each day throws down; across the long stretches of pavement with careless holiday feet overhead.
Now I read that spiders can remind you that you are on the right path: “as you were.”
I read that they embody the energy of the divine feminine.
I read they bring good fortune.
The uneaten burnt pancakes from breakfast are black and fly-ridden on the countertop. Floor is working overtime as Shelf, Coathook and Letterbox. I'm still looking at the list I wrote an hour ago.
I've got a feeling I shook out my lucky charm down by the Chine.
I've got a feeling I won't be shaking another spider out for a while.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.