She looked at the eye

of the universe

so very close

that she hardly

blinked

for fear of

missing out

on its secrets.

But then, of course,

she had to blink,

as humans have the need to do so.

And when she did

moisten her scleras,

the universe responded.

 

It blinked back at her.

As she leaned closer

to get a better look

at what had just happened or

what she thought had happened,

she realized something.

She blinked.

The universe blinked.

What she thought she was observing

was actually observing her, too.

That’s when a small bunch

of the lush, long eyelashes

in the eye of the universe

began to pull themselves away from the lid,

away from the others.

But as she peered closer,

she saw that the moving bunch of eyelashes

were not eyelashes at all.

 

Rather, they were eight nimble legs

of a spider

stirring as it awakened from its nap.

How long had the spider been there?

How long was her nap?

Had the blinking disturbed this spider’s slumber?

The spider pulled herself up

in her gossamer spidery elegance

and began to walk

out of the rainbow projecting eye of the universe.

 

She did so without ever blinking or looking back.

The eye of the universe and the girl blinked simultaneously

as the spider climbed out into the starry night sky.

She would never know her grace had been observed,

she was indeed undisturbed.

 

Mary Gabis