By Lindsey Bellosa
Busy spider, this time that weaves its web:
perhaps a daughter this time. Hope casts
its nets. Someone to love me as my own life ebbs
away; old age clings to love as masts
cling to drowning ships. Yes, a girl—
to know how the body trumps everything: wisdom,
reason, even desire— that pearl
that releases itself in me. We give them
this. Like a witch, I cast my spell
calling her forth: another witch, another spider.
Men have their hands, backs, that great haul
of ambition that knows no roots: long river.
But I’ll have her head, blooming, like a rose from me;
I’ll have the roots of love with all its pain and intricacy.
Lindsey Bellosa has poems published in both Irish and American journals: most recently The Comstock Review, The Galway Review, Poethead, Flutter Poetry Journal, Emerge Literary Journal and The Cortland Review. She has recently relocated from upstate NY to Clare Island in Co. Mayo, Ireland.