Spider Poem

by McKenna Hickock-Washburn

i remember laying on the ground
by my apartment, your
mouth stirring the spiders
each one of these memories
manifests itself as a quick
breath or a clenched fist
you broke a bottle
in my kitchen and 
the spiders moved at the sound. now it all feels
like a dream, we were drunk 
and i picked the glass out of my feet
each time i go into the 
woods i’m not alone. i’m
moving backwards. i let
them crawl over my hands
in reverse i am putting them

back in their webs and you are
opening your eyes.
taylor and i sat around and
discussed our new friends while
our new friends destroyed one another
(what did they know about friends)
this summer i looked up
they blacked out the sky and my fear
was like milk, i wanted to
hang you by a thread and sometimes
in the evenings i really do
mean it because i’m so good at 
meaning things 
after we fucked i wished that i were a black widow
but after my cigarette i was still human,
stomach empty.
and you alive on the bed.
in an orphanage i lay under the netting and counted 21
a spider for each year
we pulled their legs off for class
and i smoked behind the building
and wept (for myself)
you’d call for me, frightened
and i’d ferry them out on my hands
and you watched me like i wanted you to
sometimes i want the thought of me 
to slip into your mouth while you sleep
i am going to forget the novelty of legs
sticky with resin, all eyes moving at once
i was happy on the phone and you told me
“it won’t last”
sometimes i am not sad. 
sometimes i just exist

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