Cleaning House
by Seth Jani
When you killed the spiders
I imagined their bodies
Pressed against the boards
Spilling magnitudes of dark
Unnamed innards
Down through the creases
Of the porch
To enact an eerie sacrifice
In the sunless mass
Of hidden stones.
I imagined our own blood
Squeezed out by the fists
Of cosmic resolutions,
And I found myself wishing
That their large, terrifying bodies
Still hung from the shady woodwork
Where they could weave down
Towards our frightened faces,
Inch by quiet inch.
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