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| Shaman Spider Woman by Susan Seddon Boulet |
she wakes in the night
to find the fear of a thousand strangers
sewn like stars to the fabric above her bed,
the linen sail that she and her love use to slip past the moon
the fears glitter at her
they take what’s left of the streetlamp
after the woods and the window are through
and wave it at her like golden flags in the dark
she follows the fine and pearly webbing
from each flag to its anchor,
to the spiders in their traps
sunlight flaring inside her
she casts her own threads,
whipping them out
across an aerial view of the world
out to cities of light bundles
and to souls in between
she finds them and binds their monsters
spin spin spin
the web glows
and she growls
or she hums
plucking fears
all lit up from within
she weaves in the light
she spins and she spins
capturing monsters
and tying off binds
when the monsters have all been bound
left dangling for their makers,
she retracts her eight legs
they become her eight roots
reaching down through the earth
to the heart underground,
she sends a warm glow to the spiders
and each of the spiders she
snip snip snips free
severs the threads left behind
the ones with the hooks
those tied off with dark binds
she unhooks and she snips
and she prunes off disease
with silk and lamplight
she patches flags back into sails,
she sews instructions into pillows
the dark threads must be snapped
and these hooks be unhooked
the weeds may grow back
thread by thread, snip snip snip
soon the hooks will be gone
and the threads won’t grow back,
rest, heal, and then help the others
with a sigh of relief from each spirit released
a fresh wind blows into her sail
she takes up her own fine silver thread
and climbs back to her sweet starboat bed
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