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I hate this poem. I love the beginning, though, where it seems to be speaking to a part of me that I don’t understand, a part that hates what it doesn’t understand-- that’s the part of this poem that I love. And also how it brings in the spider only briefly, scurrying away-- I love how it does that, though I hate spiders in real life. But I like this spider. Kind of the way I love a good murder mystery, though murder is abhorrent to me in life. I don’t understand that, do you? I mean how could we love each other who practically killed each other by the time you finally scurried off? I don’t get that, do you? But I don’t hate you anymore. And I want you to know that. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I sort of still love you in a way. Paul Hostovsky is the author of seven books of poetry and six poetry chapbooks. His poems have won a Pushcart Prize and two Best of the Net awards. He has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, The Writer's Almanac, and was a featured poet on the Georgia Poetry Circuit 2013. He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter and a Braille instructor. Visit him at www.paulhostovsky.com |
