Cobweb

Siobhan Ford is in the final year of her combined honours degree in English with Counselling Skills.

Little lady

man-eater

when the home

you’d stretched

across the magnitude

            of cold translucent

landscape

            filled with dew

 

were you shaking, startled

            at the silken ice rise

twisting over your family of

            cotton-packaged

infants, as snowflakes?

            Eight-hundred legs.

Eight-hundred eyes.

            You waited for winter

 

still as bone.

            Wrapped another hundred

onto damp glass with thread wire.

            In the night silence

ambitious survival plans:

            suck the juice from a cocoon.

Un-stretch, curl legs

            from tight-ropes, under ledge.