Hate

They found Madame that rainy morning
curled into a tight ball upon her lush Roman couch.
Flashbulbs popped glaringly against the white sheets.

“Dead two hours,” said the Coroner grimly.
“The bite of an insect,” announced the Arthropologist.

Discovered, the tiny spider crawled from the corpse’s
collar and scurried across the wooden floor.
“I’ve got her!” shouted the Detective as
the guilty party came to grinding halt
beneath his heel.

But in the pale, still neck of Madame,
a pulse once again began to beat
as the egg sack nestled among her
vocal cords trembled with the many
tiny new lives within.

(4.24.87)

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