Spiders

You left without saying goodbye this morning,

and I took that silence into myself,

and who knew

that such a thing unspoken could be a fever?

And I, like a spider,

vibrating with secret fears,

wove web upon web about your silence,

until from the rafters, the corners,

the piled up things of our little house,

hung a thousand threads

that would have terrified you.

This is the kind of fuss one can make over nothing,

one abandoned by goodbyes.

 

Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014

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