Spider

Knowing stories
she viewed
the unpopular cemetery
passing through
nervous
her hair uncombed.

On time
with the sun’s drop
vines by the pond
combined with shadows
like tangled legs
in a magnified sack
of spiderlings.

She mused
about mothers
treading over names
chiseled dully into stone
and she couldn’t abort
the chill
of grass
slobbering on her heels.