In the title poem, a spider, its web bombarded by rain, thinks fly, feast, continuity, only to find, when she scuttles out...the rain. The question a number of these poems address is: how might she, or two-legged arachnids, respond to such assaults on hope or trust. Not much help from this spider: "She knows she will leave...no message./ The young she thought to gorge/ with all this wealth/ will have to learn, in their own time, / about the rain."...
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Poetry