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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Catherine Kennedy


 

My anger is a fitted sheet,

with no corners to hold
to halve and quarter it, voluminous
and deflated, soft spun from a hard spool
with one endlessly threading spindle, whirling away
in the hollow of the body. I pull and pull
like the spider articulating her web, subtle
and discreet to a world of predator and prey,
but vivid to her imagination, this visceral extension
of her atomic body, still and poised,
hungrily waiting for that first
provoking quiver.