Torn by Mary Oliver
I tore the web
of a black and yellow spider
in the brash of weeds
and down she came
on her surplus of legs
each of which
touched me and really
the touch wasn’t much
but then the way
if a spider can
she looked at me
clearly somewhere between
outraged and heartbroken
made me say “I’m sorry
to have wrecked your home
your nest your larder”
to which she said nothing
only for an instant
pouched on my wrist
then swung herself off
on the thinnest of strings
back into the world.
This pretty, this perilous world.
