Saturday, May 22, 2010


Brown Recluse sails the morning thread,
droops down with the peony, ascends
a reaching clematis: open and gloried blue
angel-- creeper still slick with night wet.
There is no place that the weaver won't
reach; its spinnerets are furiously graced.

And there is nothing that will wake
you now that the side rails have been lowered,
your clutching hand removed.
When you left, your face became a tunnel,
narrow and lightless; your mouth an entry only.


Jeremy Blomberg said...

soft and smooth...i really liked the opening image of the spider with the flowers...very nice poem

Anonymous said...

I’m on a short vacation in the archipelago right now and the settings where I’m at looks kind of different now that I’ve read your wonderful poem again.
It feels very special.
I’m repeating myself as I have already said it on your page.
Worth repeating.

Megan Duffy said...

Thank you, Sean.

PO this is a high compliment. Thank you so much. I hope you are having a blissful time in the archipelago. Man, how I wish I wish I could hop some islands right now. Enjoy.

Francis Scudellari said...

There is such a strong balance between the two stanzas, of life and death. The closing image haunts me.

bearskin rug said...


Garth said...

Wow - this sends my mind down all sorts of alleys - stark and brutal; beautiful in its honesty.

Thomas Sheridan said...

This just floats me along. The last line is my favourite part.

human being said...

reading this again is so rewarding... i crowed on your blog before...

just i should mention dropping an 'l' from the title added a greater sense to this...

this is the same thing i left on your blog... with a little revision:


a beginning
with no end
with no light
with no feet
without one
a painful rain
both bitter and