04/03/2013

It’s raining. But you’ve run out of bread.
The children plead for you to stay.

In an old umbrella, she tends her       thread,
fiddles her dirge of slow decay.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I grew up with a specific sort of arachnophobia. My father almost lost his leg to a brown recluse when I was eight years old or so. The poem is a response to that fear.

BIO:

Michael Shewmaker’s poems appear or are forthcoming in Yale Review, Southwest Review, Sewanee Theological Review, American Arts Quarterly, Measure, and elsewhere. He is a PhD candidate in creative writing at Texas Tech University and an editor for Iron Horse Literary Review and 32 Poems.
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