Monday, January 4, 2010

The Poem I Didn’t Write


The poem I didn’t write yesterday while my grandson was here is the tiny spider he noticed on the wall and touched with the tip of his finger, and which he didn’t see dangling afterward from his hand. As gently as I could, I pinched the silk; the spider lowered itself to the floor, navigated the carpeted terrain to the edge of the couch, and disappeared underneath. Later, as the day wore on, each time he passed the spot, my two-year-old friend lightly patted the wall where the spider had been. Today, the spider is back again.


Recently Linked: My thanks to Gato999 for signing on as a follower of Recently Banned Literature. Gato999 is a “little Italian fable writer.”

Update:
In the Forum: the Desire regions of the brain.

4 comments:

Conrad DiDiodato said...

William,

I think the poem's written itself. Here's a haiku response

spider—
a child's curious hand

William Michaelian said...

And a fine one it is. Thanks. I agree.

Elisabeth said...

I'm with my two year old grandson now. He has lined up his toy cars on the carpet in a straight line beside me. He puts the toy animals in spaces in between, the lion, the duck, the hippo. They are real to him as objects in his game. He knows the noises they make and will imitate them.

I have yet to see his response to a spider, curiosity perhaps as Conrad suggests. It is a joy to watch our grandchildren in way we did not have time for when we were busy parenting their parents.

Oops, I must go my grandson calls: 'Grandma, come'.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, you two, for dropping by. Spiders on a website...