Once upon a spider
There is an out-of-print story about a hive of spiders found inside a body.
Photographs of an intricate web inhaled and exhaled with every breath.
A possibly unreliable website states the average human only eats one-third of a spider in their lifetime:
leg, half a smile, do spiders have brains, torn fang, pedipalp.
What else exists in a body without our knowing.
How many puddles of swallowed packs of bubblegum, fingernails, sorrow, torn cuticles, her eyelash, an incorrectly translated love poem.
Maybe during my surgery, as I was opened, a spider crawled in, and snuck in its mate as well.
Maybe there is a web inside me too, stretching from one organ to another.
And I wonder if these spiders feel welcome or can sense the dislocation I feel in my body, still.
Maybe these spiders are building me a bunker inside myself to find solace.
Maybe.
