Light in hand
Piercing the night
Across the path
I tread, steps practiced
Puppy paws follow
First door open
The dogs hang back
Sniffing dirt and bugs
Leaving their claim
I dart beneath tarp
Watching each step
On scratched dirt and dead grass
Ignoring the familiar rank
Count the hens up in roost
Lock their door tight
Glancing up, no snakes
Just cobwebs and sticks
Turn back toward the dogs
Can’t move
She’s there
An eighth-legged aerialist,
Hanging low by her silver silk
The light by my hand,
A spotlight on her
Below, a dozen roaches scatter
Frightened by the light
The silver aerialist doesn’t flee
She merely curls
Her legs wrapping above her head
Into a ball she goes
Hanging there, waiting
She can’t stay here
She blocks the way out
I can’t bear to move her
Cautious twisting,
She remains undisturbed
And I, outside,
Locking the door behind