Primitive

It wasn’t a conviction that life is holy

That kept me from drowning the spider I found

In the sink this morning, that caused me instead

To cover it with a cup, slide a postcard beneath it,

And carry it out to the patio. It was more

The thought that it seemed unfair to kill it

Merely because it had wandered into my house.

But does the concept of fairness apply

To a creature that feeds without qualms

On insects that fail to notice its web in time?

A creature too dependent on instinct to profit

From my pointed example of self-restraint,

However often I repeat it.

Maybe it makes more sense to confess

To the fear I inherited from my earliest ancestors

Of arousing the wrath of the goddess of spiders

By harming one of her little spinners.

And if I’m not superstitious, what about the fear

That if I deem a spider dispensable I might

Come to think the same about higher life-forms?

I can’t put it past me: wanting to draw up a list

Of the people whose absence would make the world

Far friendlier than it is, and then

Wanting to pass my list around.