POEM IN A TIME OF WAR


A nid of orb spiders
near the swingset has sprung,
gold globules rushing

the strings. So my girls grow.
Today they invite a friend
to play after Kindergarten. An airplane

walks the path over our house. My girls
dance through the web
dripping spiderlings from their hands,

drape them over their shoulders,
elegant shawls. The spiders are young,
and the girls. The earth

leans back in her rocker,
smoking her pipe, watching.
It is a time of war, but she recalls

her first children,
when nothing had happened
on the long first day, but peace.


image from www.brisbaneinsects.com/.../images/Silver4.jpg

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