Eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot: a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton:
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen:
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian; the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph:
she would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality;
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
An instrument of logic:
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step.
No settees in the parlor.
No cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem.
In the spaceless black.
My purpose in writing this poem was to paint a picture with words(which I love). I ended up being very happy with how it turned out. I still am. I began Posting at the Soup on 4/29/17. It has been an awesome experience. I have learned so much about writing poetry, especially rhymes which I had done very little of. Even though I have much, much more to learn I am eager to do it.
First Poem Contest
Sponsor: Kim Rodriguez
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017