By Joel Holmberg
Frozen beneath the snow
living in a cryologic state
the tiny bodies feel
nothing
until marsh ice melts and
spiders begin weaving webs
immediate urgency
with tinkling calls for a mate
competing with hundreds
stopping only
to seize with sticky tongue
that spinning spider
Listening all night
I wondered
at the cycle of
suspension and desperation
and how
no larger than my thumbnail
they awaken feelings
known and unknown
The marsh
is not
a lonely place
Joel Holmberg, former resident of Martha’s Vineyard for 26 years as a ceramist, and active in many other endeavors, has turned his attention to poetry, short stories, and monologues while living between Italy and Finland for many more years.
