Poem of the Week

Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy

For some semi-tropical reason
when the rain falls
relentlessly they fall

into swimming pools, these otherwise
bright and scary
arachnids. They can swim
a little, but not for long

and they can’t climb the ladder out.
They usually drown-- but
if you want their favor,
if you believe there is a justice,
rewards for not loving

the death of ugly
and even dangerous (the eel, hogsnake,
rats) creatures, if

you believe these things then
you would leave a lifebuoy
or two in your swimming pool at night.

And in the morning
you would haul ashore
the huddled, hairy survivors

and escort them
back to the bush, and know,
be assured, that at least these saved,
as individuals, would not turn up

again someday
in your hat, drawer,
or the tangled underworld

of your socks, and that even--
when your belief in justice
merges with your belief in dreams--
they may tell the others

in a sign language
four times as subtle
and complicated as man’s

that you are good,
that you love them,
that you would save them again.

-Thomas Lux

Comments

[Friend2]

Here is what I remember of this poem the first time I heard it, circa 2004, in the conference room in Columbia hall:

Dorianne Laux reading it aloud, in that voice, the one that gives every syllable enunciation, weight, sympathy even.

You, during, with that I'm-tearing-up-in-a-public-place-goddamnit-and-I-can't-help-it expression on your face, the one where one side of your mouth breaks, and you dab at your eyes.

Jay Nebel, in the discussion afterwards, without wisecrack for once... shaking his head in admiration.

[Terrible Mother]

and you did that thing when you tear up: put the tips of your forefinger and thumb (your right hand, always your right hand) to your eyes.

Christ, I am nostalgic AND I miss you. What the hell is the world coming to?

Tell Singing Love I miss her too. Because I do.