untitled (Wordle 9)

the spider lets out
threads of gossamer
yet for their thickness
stronger than steel
and she never allows
them to become tangled
she'll just break them
and make some more

she builds her home
in the sky, etches
in the very atmosphere
her place where she traps
and feeds and raises her young

she is not a creature
of bone, not like the humans
who dream of flight
or even the birds
with their hollow bones
who manage flying
from telephone wire to branch

without bones
her architecture is different

she hangs suspended
in her airy temple
light everywhere
no need for windows

as her babies hatch
she tells them the stories
they need to hear
how to trap prey
where to build a home

and the stories
that fill their souls
she points at the sparks
in the sky and tells them
they are stardust
everything around them
is stardust
they are sacred sparks
that she is sending out
to brighten the night sky

they let out a bit of gossamer
and they wait for it
to wave in the breeze
moving like serprents
then they let go
of their mother's gossamer
and float out on their own

if she had eyelids
she'd close them to slits
watching her children
float away
but she can't
so she just holds on
feeling the vibration
as each one lets go

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 9 at The Sunday Whirl. A whole week late, but better late than never.