Granny Longlegs
Granny Longlegs can’t get a grip
on the wall papered with silver
leaves. Slides, catches herself,
slides again, wiry legs radiating,
graceful arabesque. This sentient
arachnid knows I’m watching,
knows predators are attracted
by motion. She freezes compact
as an amulet. How many spells
does she know? Where
in a form so small
does magic nest? Or does
she simply travel a well-worn
path, unaware, following
a spinster aunt’s slim dignity?
Turning to type again — eyes
aslant — I watch her tumble
on down, behind the glowing
screen.
— Patricia Hartsfield Martin
Pat Martin has been a longtime member of Brainchild Writers, a local writers group. She has studied creative writing at UIS, ISU, and the University of Iowa.
People’s Poetry accepts poems on any subject, but ones that deal with issues
of local interest are encouraged. Send yours to Books and Poetry Editor Corrine
Frisch c/o Illinois Times, P.O. Box 5256, Springfield, IL 62705, or to
cfrisch@illinoistimes.com with
“People’s Poetry” in the subject line.
This article appears in Dec 16-22, 2004.
