“The Spider Spins” by Sean Karns
In its foliage, the spider rides the vibrating
web. It is patient and waits Buddha-like,
as if it knows something greater—
that survival requires less consumption,
that survival is basic— therefore its needs
are minimal. When its hunger is met,
it is blessed, so much so, it wraps its dead in silk.
It seems simple, the spinning of the web.
The spider’s world is instinctual—
it ignores the chaos-order beyond its web.
It has no use for the other limits.
Even when the chaos-order
tears down its web, it spins another,
and another. It absorbs this fate—
accepts it. It has a wiser knowledge
about the world it spins. With this knowledge,
the spider has learned about sorrow.
It has spun itself into the center of it.
It knows there are two tragedies, the chaos-order
beyond its web, and the order in which it waits.
*
Sean Karns is the author of Jar of Pennies (New American Press, 2015), and his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the Birmingham Poetry Review, Hobart, Rattle, Pleiades, Los Angeles Review, Cold Mountain Review, Folio, Mayday Magazine, and elsewhere; and his poetry has been anthologized in New Poetry from the Midwest.
© LIT Magazine Issue #33, 2019
