Motherhood

Someone said they didn't like spiders...

Spin threads of silver, madame
with your swollen, ruby back
glinting fervently in black magic night,
stretch your long legs
across silky thread,
ebony spindlers that tickle the majestic
adding more mystery to the
eight legged embodiment of motherhood.

Relax when your work is done,
the tiring effort to lay one hundred lives,
and all your onyx soul will see after
is an ending ceremony
in which your misunderstood elegance
will decay into nothing.

Your glass eyes never get to see your
millions of jewel backed children
spinning artwork of their own to become
just like you.