Black Widow

She’s a creative artist,
although I’m certain
she’d take umbrage
and deny it. As she’d deny

that reality can be as badly bent
as light gouging a path
through her kitchen window
in summer.

For her, the light strike point
is miles away in an emotion
and a moment.
Because her footsteps never

walked the path
she describes, her voice never
communicated with the voices she
says she heard. Yet she believes

and perhaps the god she denies
told her everything she knows about....
That the rains which
have visited west and south

are now visiting her town
and in the corners of bedrooms,
people are experiencing new
thoughts...rhythms which don’t

conform to the story she weaves –
black widow in a world
that never unfolded her way,
until she crafted the reality

seen from a rocking chair,
by a window,
in a room she doesn’t leave,
because to understand

is to control.
Even so little.