the spider

when you fall
down the steps
and lie there for
a few moments.
waiting for pain,
or no pain
to come around,
the laundry
you were carrying
all over you,
you stare up at
the ceiling
and see a spider
looking down.
he swings closer
to get a better
look, dangling
on the thin
clear thread that
he weaves. no
words are said,
for what words
could he say, if
he could say
them. you seem
to understand one
another in this
silent moment.