The cry-baby - frances klein

You never put no stake in astrology-
never gave no mind to Mercury
in retrograde, or Mars in remission,
or what have you-
but when you come out the door
to the sight of your buttonbushes
swaddled in spiderwebs,
you take that as an omen.
When the August heat sets in
the spiders will waterfall
through every crack and cranny,
set up shop in the eaves,
litter the linoleum
from the cat having caught them,
eaten half the legs, and lost interest.
At night you will listen
to the spider-sentries
patrolling this new territory
and think of that old Tlingit story,
the boy who cried so long
the family fed him crowberries
just to shut him up.
But when morning came
all that was left was a hollowed out husk,
and those hadn’t been crowberries
but spiderberries,
the wailing mother falling to her knees
as spiders pour
from her child’s every orifice,
the planets aligning to eclipse her world.

originally published by Amaryllis Poetry, 2016

Frances Klein (she/her) is a poet and teacher writing at the intersection of disability and gender. She is the author of the chapbooks New and Permanent (Blanket Sea 2022) and The Best Secret (Bottlecap Press 2022). Klein currently serves as assistant editor of Southern Humanities Review. Readers can find more of her work at https://kleinpoetryblog.wordpress.com/.