By Anthony Palma

 

She didn’t move when I nudged

her leg, she spinning,

suspended from her own web.

There are millions of spiders in the world,

and her death was largely unnoticed,

but to starve to death alone in a closet.

I imagine her building her web

and settling into the middle,

waiting for her first victim.

Minutes turned to hours, to days,

but she remained,

clinging to the hope that if she

just waited long enough,

it would be alright.

By the time she knew,

it was too late, she too weak.

If I could see into her fractal eyes,

I would see a dozen versions

of my own end

looking at me out of

the deep,

hollow,

obsidian.

 

Anthony Palma’s work attempts to bridge the gap between poetry and other forms while addressing issues of social justice. His performances blend poetry with elements of music. His work has appeared in Rue Scribe (upcoming), Whirlwind Magazine, Oddball Magazine, and Harbinger Asylum, among others. He teaches writing at several universities in the Greater Philadelphia area. He resides in West Chester PA with his wife and family. For more info, visitapalmapoetry.com 

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