Easter Eggs
Apr. 24th, 2011 10:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
summer_jackelEaster Eggs
(Steatoda grossa)
It is Easter and
the whole world is green again,
birds caroling again, the forest abloom,
everything is bursting with vernal passion:
and the false black widow who lives
in a box on my bedroom dresser
has laid another egg sac.
This is her third.
The first inspired ethical debate.
How could I destroy the offspring of a pet?
How could I release baby venomous spiders
into my own habitat?
Mercy won out. Anyway,
there is a thriving population beneath my house
and none of them have ever hurt anything
but mosquitoes. Also, most spiderlings get eaten---
spring is always hungry.
I left it in a likely place, furtively and barely looking,
as though I were doing something wrong;
breaking the human pact
against venomous spiders.
The second one, I looked at.
Examined, after I carefully removed it
from her web with my fingers, keeping
a wary eye on where she crouched and hid.
I did not expect it to be so pretty,
or to be able to see the eggs:
tiny, discrete, dry pearls
like agate marbles in their soft silk pouch.
They rolled softly against each other as I moved them,
little wonders, promising life.
I found them somewhere dry and safe,
beneath the porch,
and handled them gently.
Last night I said, “again, spider?
how many eggs do you have in you?”
Lady Macbeth the Second looks withered,
her glossy plum-black body shrunken,
textured like satin with tiny seams in it;
she’s all legs, and the little mouth I can’t see
and hopefully will never be bitten by.
I can’t expect she’ll last long,
having performed her rites of spring
with due diligence and quiet grace.
She is still beautiful, as her eggs are beautiful
resting in her web, tired and content.
Perhaps she’ll eat again, or lay again, or die.
I won’t presume to know a spider’s business,
only admire the small gauze sphere with its
perfect and immaculate basket of eggs;
I will place it carefully somewhere dark and dry,
without hesitation, unafraid.
(Steatoda grossa)
It is Easter and
the whole world is green again,
birds caroling again, the forest abloom,
everything is bursting with vernal passion:
and the false black widow who lives
in a box on my bedroom dresser
has laid another egg sac.
This is her third.
The first inspired ethical debate.
How could I destroy the offspring of a pet?
How could I release baby venomous spiders
into my own habitat?
Mercy won out. Anyway,
there is a thriving population beneath my house
and none of them have ever hurt anything
but mosquitoes. Also, most spiderlings get eaten---
spring is always hungry.
I left it in a likely place, furtively and barely looking,
as though I were doing something wrong;
breaking the human pact
against venomous spiders.
The second one, I looked at.
Examined, after I carefully removed it
from her web with my fingers, keeping
a wary eye on where she crouched and hid.
I did not expect it to be so pretty,
or to be able to see the eggs:
tiny, discrete, dry pearls
like agate marbles in their soft silk pouch.
They rolled softly against each other as I moved them,
little wonders, promising life.
I found them somewhere dry and safe,
beneath the porch,
and handled them gently.
Last night I said, “again, spider?
how many eggs do you have in you?”
Lady Macbeth the Second looks withered,
her glossy plum-black body shrunken,
textured like satin with tiny seams in it;
she’s all legs, and the little mouth I can’t see
and hopefully will never be bitten by.
I can’t expect she’ll last long,
having performed her rites of spring
with due diligence and quiet grace.
She is still beautiful, as her eggs are beautiful
resting in her web, tired and content.
Perhaps she’ll eat again, or lay again, or die.
I won’t presume to know a spider’s business,
only admire the small gauze sphere with its
perfect and immaculate basket of eggs;
I will place it carefully somewhere dark and dry,
without hesitation, unafraid.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-24 06:58 pm (UTC)Seldom do I feel as though I have basked in a poem. But that one... yes.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-24 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-24 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-24 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-25 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-28 04:06 am (UTC)The false widows aren't a serious threat; the venom would just make me sick for a few days, but I have no desire to have that experience. I've been sharing the space with them without problem for years, but sometimes it seems a little odd to enjoy them.