“Having been witness to what a mother goes through,” he said to his mother.
He could not kill it.
The old widow salvaged her broken web
and hoisted her sacs of eggs.
Soon, her time will be.
“The female dies the same summer after laying eggs.”
But hers was not by poison or fire.
Or to return in a bad dream.
She and her eggs are in a jar, in the car,
driving to the desert, to be set free.
Then, her time will be.
At the foot of the saguaro,
Thousands of Latrodectus mactans were born.
The good mother wraps her legs
around the red hourglass
one last time
from a single, silk strand.
“Do no wrong or violence to the alien, the fatherless, or the widow,
and do not shed innocent blood in this place.”
painting: The Good Mother by Louise Bourgeois