Holly Day

Thoughts From the Top of a Chair

I've heard of prisoners in solitary confinement
growing so lonely they tame spiders
lure them to their knees by plucking hairs from their head
stretching them out and playing them like guitar strings
mimicking the sound of a mother spider
sending signals across the web
to her children.

if the buried memory of some warm, comforting
mother spider saying, "Come on home now! Dinner's ready!"
can make a spider run towards the sound
of a hair being stroked by a rough convict hand
should I feel bad about stepping on them
flushing their twitching hairy bodies down the toilet
squirting them with window cleaner
burning them with alcohol?

—Holly Day

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