THE ENMITY BETWEEN SPIDERS AND BEES

RICKY RAY

 
 

after Carol Ciavonne

 
 
This is what it meant to [xxxxx]*.

 
The spiders crawled up her tresses—

this is before they were spiders,

before they had six-shooters—
and she said take my hair into your legs,

spin it a ghostly gossamer and swing.

They bit her dead then, ate the evidence;

they couldn’t risk her revealing their secrets.

She sat still and let them. She struggled

and let them. Her body shat

and let them burrow into her eyes.

The cellular screams that ripped her

swift as hummingbirds on the scent of sugar

were precisely what she wanted

when the hive of her belly

glowed red as a coal

and burst with the unappeasable anger of bees.

 
 
*Clap five times

for the words that have died

and left strangenesses in the tongue.

 

 
 

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