His Trust is a Spider’s House (1)
I had an allergic reaction to tizanidine and saw
spiders writhing on my bedroom lamp
like kudzu cloaking Mississippi highway pines.
The tiny bodies strung down from the lampshade
to the side-table: Mardi Gras beads
thronging lampposts and ‘Romeo catchers.’
I thought I'd dreamed the ropes of spiders,
and so the next night: one spider
the size of my mother's dog walked across
my bedroom wall, so black it became purple.
I came out of my bed screaming
and stopped taking tizanidine.
I realized I’d seen months of spiders:
feathering out of concrete cracks,
in the shadowy corners of my eyes.
Spiderlings disappearing into the drain
of my mind unquestioned.
Why hadn't I been afraid before now?
An eight-year-old William Blake saw angels
in a tree "bespangling every bough like stars." (2)
His father nearly beat him for his vision.
For my part, I called my friend, who said,
"It's an allergic reaction. Stop taking them."
But I kept the bottle.
Now I dream of wading
through swampy summers
to someone whose back is turned.
The doorway is closed,
mystery sewn shut by sobriety.
I wake, hours before the workday begins.
No angels, no spiders.
(1) Job 8:13-15
(2) Alexander Gilchrist, Life of William Blake, pg. 7.