Weaving Time.
O Grandmother, spider woman
Weaving the universe
and teaching the Beauty Way.
Ananse.
Night after night she watches
from her sit spot
in the bathroom corner.
By the morning, gone.
Perhaps she is under time
or inside it.
Her time as intricate a pattern
as the consciousness of her web.
A steely blade slides down my face—
I almost miss the ruby of revelation.
Droplet of blood in the vast
whiteness of the sink.
She is more of a mirror than
the one in front of me.
Her medicine more potent than
the bottles and pills behind it.
Asher, it’s always been this way.
Your attention is the centre.
The spider holds the rest
in her quivering, gossamer net.