there were eventually too many miles between us
to let it die
where it fell.
ironically, because I didn’t kill it
and let it hobble, burdenless, behind me as we traveled
I had a superior traveling companion:
one that didn’t interrupt when I spoke
never said anything itself.
The Spider in the Windowsill
It’s tempting to just squish it outright but you should first
pull off a leg, then another. First an arachnid
then an arthropod then a quadruped then a biped. Does
the level of intelligence and/sophistication increase or decrease
with each removed limb? How about if you
put a hat on the tiny, flailing insect,
give it a cane, make it dance on its two remaining legs
as it fumbles its way to death?
What happens if you remove all the legs
from one side, but leave the other intact?
does it run around and around
in a circle like a cartoon character,
a teeny tiny motorcar? Now what happens
when you give it a hat, a cane,
from the first exercise?
I wake to find that the vampire
has done my laundry, and he has turned
everything pink. There are crumbled bits of bone
trapped in the wrinkles in my sheets
smooth and white like chunks of St. Petersburg marble.
He seems so proud of himself, that he’s done my laundry
all by himself
(and without me even asking!)
that I pretend to be pleased with my pink sheets,
my pink clothes. I wonder
what he put in the wash to make everything turn so pink—
a red sock, a potholder, a cat
I think about asking, but I
don’t want to know.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Holly Day was born in Hereford, Texas, “The Town Without a Toothache.” She and her family currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches writing classes at the Loft Literary Center. Her published books include the nonfiction titles, "Music Theory for Dummies", "Music Composition for Dummies", and "Guitar All-in-One for Dummies." Her poetry books include “Late-Night Reading for Hardworking Construction Men” (The Moon Publishing) and “The Smell of Snow” (ELJ Publications).