THE ENMITY BETWEEN SPIDERS AND BEES
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.