Never heard the killer’s silent approach.
No springing of hairs on my neck,
no buzz of sixth sense, no early warning.
That is, until his shadow touched mine.
My corporal self twisted to see him sink
his phantom fangs silently into
what my arm cut from the desk lamp’s glow.
In my darkened jungle, when
hunted suddenly discovers hunter,
the bookish often instinctively
With swift and sure notebook swat,
just doing what spiders do,
went from one shadow to two.
The first, I’ve written here
on your page. The other,
I’ve just written over
Poem #3 — another 100-worder — of Poem-a-Day April 2014. My thanks to the late little arachnid (the correct lighting might even make me look fierce) who scared the hell out of me and inspired this piece in my up-until-then-empty morning notebook. At dVerse Meeting the Bar, Claudia asks us to express emotion without saying what it is. Hope I did.