I Swallow A Spider in my Dreams

You were the spider in my left lung,

but I sneezed and you stayed.

A dance of unplanned symbiosis:

the webbed breath, the air cocoon.

~

I bring to the butcher, an assembly

of my best pieces, ask for the

head to be removed from the body,

the body removed from the end.

But leave the spider in my lung

(to keep me company).

~

I invite everyone I’ve met at the corner store

and deliver unto them a feast of my finest self,

hoping no one questions the strangeness of

the main course, an assembly of seasonals:

a perhaps poisonous mushroom, a past-date

pollock, a pause to point out the sustainability

of eating insects (agreed upon by the spider).

~

But I end up eating dinner alone.

(Almost alone).

~

I don’t blame anyone for leaving the table.

Just like the spider cannot be blamed

for creating a meal out of the one

who has swallowed him.