Another Poem On Gamophobia
October, and corners and crannies
are rife with spiders, glue
of gossamer. Since you left
this morning, I’ve walked
through a web, caught a spider
dappled in afternoon light
before it scurried
beneath the bookshelf,
one more thing moving too fast
to grab hold of.
The cool breeze, a shooting star.
What we have
and what I’m afraid to say.
I wish I would change
like seasons, like these unleaving
trees, even the pumpkins rotting
on porches. To turn
to warmer weather,
our breaths fogging
the windows, my hand
finding its way into yours.
