School is out and there
is nothing in the house
so we get in the car to
get something to eat.
A shriek from the backseat.
It’s massive and very near,
two dainty legs rest neatly
on hers, the other six feet
on the leather seat.
I crush it in a tissue
and we drive on, still
with the absent spider
sitting absolutely still
and unforgettably close,
still crawling unseen on
our clothes, still touching
things we touch.
Yes it is gone
but this is nonetheless
a thing that happened
and we each check, now,
to be sure, before we close
the car door, to see if
any spiders are
hitching a ride.
See:
you can kill all the spiders
but they are still on you.
You can kill them all
but you will look up
at a ceiling that you
swept and there they
will sit: in the corner.
They may still fall
into your open mouth
in the night as you
dream of choking.
The corpse in the tissue
is still in the cup holder
of the car, I do not want
to touch it again,
even to throw it
away.
–
Judith Kingston is a Dutch writer living in the UK. Her poetry has been published on Poets Reading the News and in the Fly on the Wall Press anthology “Persona non Grata”. It has been performed in a number of Off West End immersive theatre productions and her pamphlet ‘Signs and Wonders’ was recently shortlisted for publication by Against the Grain Poetry Press. A teacher by day, Judith likes to put her whiteboard pens to good use after office hours leaving her poetry on mirrors, windows and tiled floors.
Photograph by P.M. Kroonenberg.
