TINGE Magazine - http://www.tingemagazine.org

Issue 4

Black Widow

 · Poetry

I’m going to dismember
your spinnerets.
No more of your orb web
clogging my exoskeleton.
I’ll knock that dragline

off its hinge and when
it falls to the ground we
will hear the silk grunt,
the murmur of your venom
dishonored in the dustpan.

I’ve earned the disposition
of the brown recluse.
My poison’s porous, silent.
Hear it swish down your throat
as you take your last breath.

 


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