I think I’ll just stand here and watch this spider.
It’s big and black and I hope not deadly to humans.
One leg moves, then another, then several, together.
At a snail’s pace it moves closer to the fly that thinks it’s having a safe rest.

The cobweb is glistening in the sunlight, a shimmering drape hanging above the barn door.

Nowhere else to be, I keep watching from the fold-out chair that my dad gave me.
Hours later she’s there next to the fly.

She grabs the fly.
I’ve named her Charlotte. The spider, not the fly.
The fly doesn’t get a name since it’s just about to die anyway.

I’m standing up now, a front row seat to the feeding.
Charlotte eats his face, slowly, with purpose.
The body is still, no struggle.
The wings are still visible,
And if it still had its head it could fly away,
To continue its buzzing and abused existence.

But instead it’s wrapped up in thin, sparkling fibers,
Quite a pretty death.

I wouldn’t mind taking a life like that-
Peacefully, slowly.
It feels so right watching her delicately destroy the fly.
There is a sense of order.
I suppose I can relate to Charlotte.
We do share the same name.