Party at Dusk

there’s a spider as big as a baby’s fist in my friend’s garden, bright yellow and black, and two are gone from our usual number.

without going into it, i can tell you the undercurrent is dark.

we watch our feet, balance our plates, need more than want to sit.

the spider waits in the dark. i hear a story for the third time. my dear friend. what does it mean, that i am still moved?

in this scenario we eat dessert. the bonfire spits sparks. watch your cardigan, i am warned, and smile, as if it were that simple.