Kath Jones
a family of small ankles
#1
the spider
grown fatter by the days trapped
aphids and mondays big beetle kill
she determined to bind
claimed a
huge uneven triangle
from washing line to window
by early evening
the wind began her descent
down valley
she worked quickly
to repair her laddered web
secure the greenshield
for later consumption
#2
nearing midnight
she
sits up close statuesque
all the while
thinking about him
there then not
she
hurries away
from touch
vanishing into sofa shadow
#3
after the winds
she tightrope’d
along the washing line
throwing a yarn
to take up residence
on the summer house window
like a kids drawing
#4
a week later she returned
a corner of the kitchen window
her threads screening
a small yellow plane circling overhead
the engine cutting
children screaming
last minute ascent
#5
the mistress came out of hiding
not seen for several weeks
her short visit cause of much delight
since her absence
she’d grown fatter still
her slender legs
diligently repairing threads
#6
eye spy something beginning with s
from her hiding place beneath speakers
the mistress gargantuan
scurrying full circle across the floorboards
freezing by telephone wires
can you see her?
the clue is on the windowpane
tip toe-ing like a ghost
to beneath chair
her next appearance
in a few minutes
over arm
scuttling cushions
would she climb in ears?
#7
to be heard
underneath the bed
her ankles
tickling carpet
to walk over his face
at dawn
#8
sharp intake
she scales the curtain wall
back legs dragging
meanwhile
her companion
frozen on floorboards
on closer inspection
is a limb short
the missing leg
trapped by rough plasterwork
in the kitchen
above the cooker
#9
with a feeling
worse
than waiting
along came spider
sat down beside her
purple-black-blue tongue
tell her your true name
#10
she is here again
back to entrapment
the mask
on hearth rug
takes off quick
the slightest breath
make a wish
invent another game
those wasted nights
alone
#11
preparing party food
the larger of the two
wearing black shoes
practices tap
from corner to corner
the radio is playing
clunky piano
three acts of paradise bells
tolling into the night
#12
none of eight legs symmetrical
applauded
not the most light-footed
of landings
taxi-ing the closest ever
#13
due to freak occurrence
a tiny handful of folk
swallow sixteen spiders a year
in their sleep
