Araneae

A Spider In My Room
By Radhika Bianchi

In the corner, there’s a spider
Between the ceiling and the wall.
Its legs are long, its body small,
Seeing it there my eyes grow wider,

Fearing it to be the kind
Of spider I’ve been warned about.
I swallow back a piercing shout
And try to see the telltale line

On its back that makes it look
Like a tiny violin.
But the line, so very thin,
Evades my eyes in that dark nook.

I do not dare approach too near,
Anxious it might jump on me,
So stripy legs I cannot see,
Nor the six eyes that I fear.

Is the deadly Brown Recluse
Or its gentle predator—
The Tiger Spider—by my door?
I just can’t tell. Oh, it’s no use!

But just as I decide, it seems,
To kill the spider anyway,
With a fatal blast of spray,
I remember several dreams

Wherein I, like a fighter,
Lost in labyrinthine halls,
On bloodied knees and elbows crawled,
Followed by a giant spider.

Now, as I turn my gaze behind,
I’m tormented by the doubt:
Is it there to help me out?
It doesn’t move and I’m inclined

To think that maybe I mistook
The chilling semblance of its skin
For its character within.
But then it speaks and I am shook

By these eerie words I hear:
“Tranquil you will never be
Because you came from inside me,
And I exist in you, my dear.

But you are, sadly, too obtuse;
The truth you run from and ignore—
That you and I, down to the core,
Are both the Tiger and Recluse—

Means you abhor your darker themes;
Just look at how you crawl away,
Trying to keep my touch at bay,
So, I come to you in dreams.”

Before the monster gets away
I squeeze the can and spray, and spray!
And though the spider falls, reduced,
I fill my room with toxic juice.

I stumble out and slam the door,
Coughing, hands and knees to floor,
To the bathroom, wash my tears,
And when I glance up at the mirror

In horror, I jump back to see
Six beady eyes staring at me!
I blink and take another look,
Confirmed: my face her likeness took,

And limbs increased from four to eight.
Forlorn, I mourn my beastly fate.
Now I see without a doubt
The truth in what she spoke about.

When, again, in dreams I spy her
In her nest, I crawl beside her.
Cradling me ever tighter,
She whispers, “Incy, Wincy Spider.”