fear itself

I’m afraid of spiders. I’m better now than when I was young, and I don’t kill spiders if I can help it. I expected to find a lot of them in this Victorian house and there are webs in almost every corner, inside and out. But I haven’t seen a spider up close after nine months in this apartment…until this weekend when THREE spiders got way too close for comfort. On Mother’s Day I started to write a poem about the police killing of Breonna Taylor and somehow it turned into a poem about spiders—I was writing about fear, really, and how avoidance has become a way of stopping myself from feeling things too deeply. I can live with cobwebs in the corners. But I can’t claim to be okay with spiders unless I’m willing to let them be themselves. On Friday there was a jumping spider in the kitchen; it was on the floor so I just made sure to avoid stepping on it. But the next day I was reading on the sofa and that same skittish spider appeared on the armrest just a few inches away. I managed to put it outside but then woke up this morning to a big dark splotch on the bathroom wall—even without my glasses on, I knew it was a spider. That one was too big to try to move so I left it alone and now it’s out of sight. The things we fear can’t be avoided forever. I’ve been asked to write a short essay about finding balance during the pandemic and I think I’ll start with spiders. I’m struggling to finish my poem in a way that’s honest because I’m skirting the real issue: that it *hurts* every time another Black person is killed, every time it’s covered up, every time folks march for a Black male victim but not for a Black woman. On Saturday I attended a workshop to honor Aiyana Stanley-Jones who would’ve turned 18 if Detroit police hadn’t killed her ten years ago in much the same way they killed Breonna Taylor. I left the Zoom meeting early because of a migraine but today I’m feeling better and my unfinished poem is still waiting for me…this afternoon I saw a squirrel snacking on the seeds that fall from my feeder while the cardinals are stuffing their beaks. I’ve started leaving a container of water on the deck and it made me so happy to watch the squirrel stop to take a drink. Will I ever take comfort or find pleasure in watching a spider? If it was weaving a web out in the forest—sure. But in my home? Many of us try to keep the things that scare us at a distance, but sometimes we have to face the fear, let it in, sit with it for as long as we can. I’ve designed a life that lets me avoid a lot of things that cause me anxiety or make me uncomfortable. Some days I think of that as self-care. Some days it feels like cowardice. It’s probably somewhere in the middle. That’s what I want to say in my poem. So back to work…