Old-man spindly-legged spiders
occupy the house stringing
cobwebbed bunting from
corner to corner of every room.
Leaves shrivel and drop
from the window-ledge basil,
the back-alley buddleia blooms and
the blackberries rot.
Bins overflow.
Day 3 of dad in the care home.
He shouts IT’S A NUTHOUSE,
his catheter sprouts, an invasion too far.
The wildness takes over as
brain stems wither and die.
Cauterised.
I propagate my spider plants,
heavy with babies.
How abundant and oblivious,
I hate them.
Brigid is a Liverpool-based poet whose work is intimate and personal, exploring themes including aging, loss, desire, and memory. She believes writing creatively is one of the best ways to learn about ourselves and the world around us and encourages everyone to have a go.
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