A Spider Came

A spider, soft as midnight lace,

Crawled onto her porcelain face.

For once, her eyes held no alarm,

Lids like silk, hands pale and calm.

She’d spent her years in whispered fright,

Shuddering at things that bite,

But now the beast could dance and spin,

Trace its webs upon her skin.

No breath was drawn, no shiver came,

No prayer to break the waiting game.

She lay as still as unwound clocks,

A brand new doll in a cedar box.

The spider wove, the moonlight hummed,

A requiem for lips now numbed.

Bravery had come too late—

Death had taught her how to wait.