I shrink back before extending,
slinking along webs of spinners,
landing on their centers;
tethering my nerve with silk
ribbons, scattering legs.
I catch flies in my home, lethal
chelicerae holding their life—
a crescent moon in the pupil
of predator and prey: I am
eight polished telescope lenses,
the absence that surrounds.
Of pit and pendulum—
blood unfolding pages of lung.
Erika Dane Kielsgard is an MFA candidate at Brooklyn College and a mother of mantises. Her poems have found generous homes in Bone Bouquet (Spring 2016, Issue 7.1), Cleaver Magazine (March 2016, Issue 13), and Rust + Moth (Autumn 2015). You can follow her on twitter @sirenmusing and Instagram @scorpiette.