No one harms me. Not the garden spider I met
when wrapping my hand around the bent neck
of a fallen spray of peach knockout roses,
to sever the color, steal and dry their beauty,
before they collapse in the gathering dew.
Tiny fangs kissed my ring finger without catching
my attention. I only notice the bite as I lie weary
in the cool drift of nightfall. I let no one harm me
but myself. The insolence of a welt budding red 
beside my knuckle strikes a horror deep within.
Defiant, I eclipse the wound with my teeth, take
the perspective of the threatened and the threat,
spit my own venom, feeling nothing, savoring
petal-soft skin as it unfurls beneath my sharpness.