Truer than True
Tonight
At the corner of the covered deck, the spider built
its web, a mastery of silken workmanship, but that’s
not what this piece is about.
Within its sacred composition of poetic glimmering
strands, upon each was written a lyrical line scribed
by a lonely writer’s pen, if only you could see it, but
that’s not what this piece is about.
In admiration I gaze at its wondrous spirals and gawk
with fascination, a creation worthy of bragging rights
despite its truth as a woven deathtrap, hell to any fly,
but that’s not what this piece is about.
Oh spider, oh spider, what a weaver of wonder you are,
and yet so humble.
A dog was hit by a car today, not far from my house,
and I can’t stop thinking about it, and that’s what this
piece is about.
I sit on my deck in the dark tonight, haunted by the
sound of squealing brakes and the thud of impact
replaying in my head, the volume magnified by the
silence of the spider that sits within its web.
The little girl who loved that dog was at school at the
time of the accident. How do you tell a nine-year-old
that sometimes life is cruel?
I focus on the web, hoping to forget the day while I
pray that no fly will meet its end tonight, not on my
watch. One death is enough for one day.
Nature has its hungers, and if not one then another
must suffer.
(But that doesn’t explain a hit and run)
I watch as the spider moves, not far, just an inch
or two, perhaps unnerved by my attention.
“It’s alright,” I say, “that space belongs to you,
my friend.”
So quickly life can come to an end, and tonight
that seems truer than true.
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© 2023 Randall Snyder
