arachnophobic

I discovered a spider lurking in the corner

of my room. Yes, lurking--a word implying

criminal intent. These creatures are a clear and 

present danger to my peace and well-being.

This is my room, damn it. Why can't 

it just go back to where it came?

I read somewhere once, probably on the internet,

that Australia has something like eight million species

of spider; and most, if not all, are

so venomous that they can kill you with

just one glance. They just stalk in bushes, 

in your shoes, and under the toilet seat.

Now, I've never befriended a spider, don't know

enough about them to dispute this information. But,

anything that looks like that can't be anything

except a threat to me and society.

I am extraordinarily uncomfortable. While I realize this

is not Australia and there is plenty open

earth between here are there, aren't they all

related? Aren't they all the same by blood?

Honestly, my first reaction to finding this trespasser

is to reach for a shoe, or hammer,

a gun, or a match and a gallon

of gasoline. Yes, that's right--gas and flame.

Light it all up, burn it all down.

I wouldn't call this arachnophobia; instead, a valid

response to a perceived threat. I love living

here but I can't let my room stand

to further the spider agenda now, can I?

However, lately I've been trying to be more

present, to practice this radical idea where I

think before acting. So, I'm trying to not

react so harshly to things that scare me,

to things I don't understand... like spiders.

Why should I be afraid, anyway? I know

what I've read but are they that dangerous?

No spider ever confronted me in the streets

and beat, or shanked, shot, or robbed me.

In fact, I can't even verify as to

whether even one has even bitten me. Maybe

mosquitoes are just giving them a bad rap.

And no spider certainly ever threatened to take

my job. Let's be honest. I would never 

spin web. Have you seen how hard 

they toil at that? And for minimum wage?

I still want to reach for some tool

of destruction; but to stay my hand,

I devise stories about my intruder. Humanize it.

Maybe he doesn't even want to be here.

Maybe he really wants to reside on the soil

of his birth, but civil war sent him 

fleeing. Or he had to abandon home before

some bigger, scarier bugs knocked on his web.

Maybe he lost his job and he's out

looking for work but no one is hiring

and he needed to just stop and cry

because his web is just days from foreclosure.

Maybe he just has nowhere else to go

because his staunchly religious parents kicked him out

upon tragically discovering he's atheist; or worse, gay.

Maybe he is not even he. Maybe she

was born he but now identifies as she

and has been holding her bladder for hours

looking for a bathroom to use without all

of her spider kin going crazy over it.

Maybe she mad a wrong turn while heading

to a march against an over-reaching patriarchy

or is look for an open Planned Parenthood.

Maybe she's vegan. Maybe I'm not in danger.

Maybe I'm not as desirable as I thought. 

The possibilities are endless. Even if I don't

like spiders, even if I think they're monsters,

it's a lot harder to harm something when

you know it has a story. Maybe they

can be dangerous; but can't we all be

when threatened? This may just be a silly

poem about a spider, but I hope there's

a metaphor about something much bigger here somewhere.