Charlie
Charlie was huge – ‘last time I saw a spider as big as that’
a man I loved had told me once ‘I tried to bash it with my shoe
and it took it off me and hit me back…’
She was blackest black – glossy, plum of a body,
short stout legs at the ready, eyes peeled better than mine
for any shift of light that might warn of an attack.
And she was smart – sat mid-wall, long edge of the bed,
where any approach triggered a shift; took to flight sooner
at each advance of a trap.
She and I fell into a pact – I’d come into the room,
she’d shift to face me, chipper as a puppy, ‘Found something to eat?’
I’d say, half-expecting a wisecrack.
Time for lights out, I’d tiptoe the cold floor in the borrowed dark,
huddle under the covers, feeling safer, a little – smaller, less visible
now I had my head in the sand.
At least Charlie was sorted – she had no need to run any more,
no need to find an invisible corner to hide out in.
I took some comfort in that.