Things with Me and Spiders
2. Nocturne

The dark, for all the talk,
is not what terrifies.
It’s the unseen—
or the not seeing—
and all the horrific 
things you make of it.

You should see my 
nightmares:

Usually everything
is made of snakes,
but often there’s
a home invasion,
my teeth crumble
down to the gum,
or otherwise things
are just unnerving.

I have only dreamt of 
spiders once:

An egg sac on the 
ceiling unleashed a 
stream of them,
dark and gleaming;
they spilled out
heavily in the 
hundreds like
rice—cascading
down the walls 
in sheets.

The clinking
sound of their
little brittle bodies
reminded me of
rain.