Written by: Gracie Bawden

The spiders know before we do,
Expanding black clouds
On the edge of a meal
In the corner of my bedroom

The last of the flies circulate
Wall, wall, window, wall
It is just a matter of time

Meanwhile the girls and I
Find benches in the last scrap of brassy sunlight
Furiously rub the upright hairs from our arms
And fight the gails
Blowing our skirts like sails.