This Golden Orb spider that has drawn
into herself all colors of the night and stolen
shards from the sun stretches her legs
to the ends of her shining story.
Many times I followed the twisting path
of her laced labyrinth, circled inwards,
doubled back, lost myself on paths
hands as outstretched lest I fall
through gaps between treacherous
threads into chaos and smash
upon concrete below.
Many times I stood before Grandma Spider,
light-flecked darkness at the heart
of all things. Devoured and spat out,
I bore her gifts upon the road that wound
to where the end of my story
meets the world.
Be careful not to destroy
the glittering map that hangs
from branch to branch
upon your path.
You may save baby pied fantails,
moths, mosquitoes trapped
But it is my story you destroy.
Or perhaps, your own.
Written by Moira Ong