Spiders – a poem by Kathryn Simmonds

 
Spiders                                   
 
On the thread of 
this attempted prayer
a hair braced attentively 
 
I lower down,
the slightest give 
a catch only the heart 
 
can feel, and think 
of spiders, 
their secret spinnerets,
 
how these September days
when opening 
the greenhouse door
 
I’ve walked face first 
into a web 
no one could know 
 
was there except 
the crumpled maker. 
I’ve spun nothing 
 
and hang in nothing, 
my thread invisible unless 
glossed by light, 
 
lowering down into air,
or what is not air 
but the belief of it. 
 
 
 

Kathryn Simmonds has published two collections of poems. She lives with her family in Norwich. 

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