Poem

Gus Peterson

Dead Spider

Little arachnoid planet
I find you at the end of your thread
hung like a birdcage
in the bathroom after a shower.
Little mountaineer, little climber,
there is already so much death.
Why belay ourselves?
The way back is granite hard.
I hoist you like a fish
to pale yellow vanity light.
Little jumper, did you leap
with good intention?
Always a ball of string
in your belly to slow the fall.
Did you starve half full?
If, at the end, I hugged
myself eight times,
I might too.

Gus Peterson lives in Maine, in the Northeast United States. Work has appeared online in Clear Poetry, Rattle, and New Verse News and in print recently with Sandy River Review. He serves as Treasurer for the Maine Poets Society, a non-profit group whose goal is to promote the art and practice of poetry for all Maine residents.

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