In Lament of Delilah and Those Like Us
a Saturday morning poem/Advent
I know Shame's face well. She stares at me through broken mirrors and bloodied knuckles; a spider's worth of judgement across my hands, watching me, pleading with venom in vain: Why are You like this?
Author’s Note:
Delilah was a spider, a black-widow, that took up residence in my kitchen window (outside) above one of my many Pothos plants. One evening, I was watering the Pothos without much worry. I worried a tad more when an annoyed arachnid scurried down her web to see what the disturbance was.
I’ve never been particularly afraid of spiders, so I gently moved my hand away from the irritated creature, said my apologies, then set about finding a better light source to identify her.
I conclude that she is a ‘false widow’ excitedly to my husband. Surely that means she could stay without a fuss.
In the morning, when I went to finish watering the aforementioned Pothos, I attempted to create an agreement with our new ‘false widow.’ She came down in the same manner as the last time, the water felling her messy tinsel of a web-design. Only this time, I could clearly see the red hourglass in all it’s glory.
There was a bit more fuss about whether she could stay…
I noted the fear that welled up in me, towards her, just then. She was not aggressive, but assertive. I made room for her. She stayed for a while, 6 months to be exact. I chatted with her every night with a joint in hand. Our watering schedule worked out well, eventually…
until she laid eggs. And we both had to decide which one of us was the bigger God in our shared universe. She made her choice, and we had to make ours.
I wish I could have chosen her over my neighbors. She was my friend. And she deserved to take up more space.
I think about her at least once a day.