by Alison Jennings
Suppose it’s true, and the Ojibwe are right:
the world lies trapped by a mammoth Grandmother Spider,
her heavy presence spinning the intricate web of life
in which we writhe,
caught by the magic of horsehair, string, and yarn.
This truth would be unacceptable, if it weren’t so damned funny:
We puny people, so proud of buildings, cities, and constructions
as we struggle to overcome our planet, while all the time
we’re wooden puppets to an indifferent giant insect.
We must keep recognizing the vanity of earthly achievement:
The true story remains untold – the human
imagination is a wildfire, a tangled mess of burning
dreams – bad ones incinerate at first light;
ashes of good dreams
of the dreamcatcher
to the sleeper below,
who blows them
off his face
when he awakes
and remembers nothing but an inclination to be kinder.
About the Author
Alison Jennings is retired from teaching and accounting; throughout her life, she has composed over 450 poems, and recently published several of them, in print journals and online. She lives in Seattle, where she writes poetry whenever she has time.
From the Editor
Want more of Allison's work? Check her website out here!