Eight Legs

I used to play with spiders.

I would throw insects,
Into their webs:
Miniature sacrifices
To a child-size
Aztec pantheon.

Sometimes I would tease them
With twigs, twine, and debris –
Mock bugs sacrificed in effigy.

Then the dreams.

Perhaps I offended
Some arachnid god
With my impiety.

There were carpet crawling swarms.
There were things the size of dogs.
There were things the size of houses.
There were other things,
Worse things.

When I startled myself awake,
They would often scurry
Out of the nightmares:

I could feel them
Crawling between my sheets.

I envy arachnophiles.
I wish that I could see
Through their eyes,
Through my former eyes,
The graceful, beautiful efficiency,
The cruel indifference,
The magnificence.

But I can’t.

My Hell
Has eight legs.