As I walk on a warm evening,
an invisible strand of spider silk
lands across my neck.
Another snags my elbow.
I brush at them,
but they are tricky to unhook.
Where is the spider
who set this clever snare?
I’m not near a tree or pole
or any structure for that matter.
This spider has cast his line far
into the river of open air,
hoping for a yellow hopper,
which he will reel in
and roast over a cookfire.
The smell of his catch will waft
through the grass to make his neighbors’
pinhole mouths water.
After a fine meal, he’ll lie down
in a hammock of homespun
and stare at the sparking stars,
each one a tantalizing firefly.
Dayna recently moved to the Northwest from Texas. She is the mother of two and Poetry Editor for Psaltery & Lyre. Her chapbooks, Loose Threads and Mothering, are available from Flutter Press. Other work has appeared or is forthcoming in BlazeVOX, Borderline, Clover, Decades Review, Dialogue, Flutter Poetry Journal, Front Porch Review, North American Review, Segullah, and Sunstone, among others.
Photo by James Lindsey, 2003 via Wikimedia Commons.