Richard Wells

 

WEBS

 My friend, Beverley

thought she could

weave clothing

out of spiders' webs

 

But her hands 

were too thick

And her eyes

too hot

And the season

passed

 

As she perfected her life

she went around

surrounded by moonlight

even on the brightest day

and listened to music

none of us 

could hear

 

The spiders

were luring her back

to their webs.

 

 MORNING SPIDER

         Yoga & Coda

 

5:30

cold morning

drive to yoga

 

NPR

Afghanistan in my ear

 

Out my eye

a spider

riding silk

swaying in a storm

between door handle

and rear view mirror.

 

Oh, man.

 

Slow down

drive to keep the spider safe

ease up on amber

coast to red

glide into parking spot

gently open and close door -

 

Figure it out, brother

‘cause it's going to be a rough ride home.

 

7:00

 

Done with the dogs

cobras/crows/and corpse

back to the car

 

Spider's gone

silk remains.

 

///

 

Later,

 

spider in the shower

 

enough already 

 

                  Splat!

 

and

down

the

drain.

 


 

THE TIMES I DIED

 

 

The first time I died

 

We all smoked cigarettes from a pack of Luckies I kept in the shirt sleeve of my James Dean dreams

 

She had all the knives in a chef’s kit tattooed across her arms and shoulders

 

My heart, my heart of wild delight plumed and comet-crossed the night.

 

 

The second time I died

 

It was summertime and we were living on French kisses

 

The wind carried the sound of lions and freight trains to our bedroom

 

Our friends were being called to war

 

Drugs were everywhere

 

There were so many deaths I barely noticed my own.

 

 

The third time

 

Night

 

Tom and I 

sat at a round table

surrounded by hanging plants

and reflections 

 

rain slanted against the windows

 

Will you be leaving, he asked

 

I nodded

 

and reached 

across the table.

 

 

 

 

The fourth time I died

 

Our whole family was cremated.

 

 

The fifth time I died

 

The missing children practiced saying hello.

 

I remembered every person who had ever said my name.

 

I didn’t care.  I was bored.

 

I couldn’t continue shaking hands with people I almostrecognized.

 

Life was not a dance

not a mountain railway

not a cabaret

 

Life was not a dream.

 

Life was meat and blood -

 

I wanted more.

 

 

Six

 

Hands

 

bigger

 

than my head

 

held me under

 

I twisted 

 

thrashed

 

went limp

 

watery light

 

then dark

 

then darker.

 

 

Seven

 

Asleep

awake

asleep again

awake 

 

next breath

 

last breath

 

no, this is fine

 

in    and   out

in    and   out

 

constellations.

 

 

The eighth and last time I died

 

Breathing hurt

like broken windows

 

I saw myself waving

and so I waved back

 

I inhaled all the life I could

closed my eyes, bowed my head.